The Rook
by Fatality
Summary: (Kings and Pawns - Book I) (Sequel to Devil) Phendrana has at last become a shade, but in the wake of his transformation all is not well. With his mental abilities keener than ever before the doppelganger finds himself plagued with a series of prophetic dreams, and only by relying on these vague images will the Shadow Court have any hope of defending the City of Shade.
1. Prologue

It came to her in a dream, as these things so often did – the goddess found it easier to commune with a subconscious mind, for her voice was so vast and incomprehensible that those shackled by the mortal coil had little hope of fathoming her in their perpetual fallibleness. There were no words – words could be misinterpreted, twisted, and the goddess was nothing if not plain when it came to articulating her desires. Her servant's uninterrupted slumber simply became the tablet upon which the goddess etched her will, taking the form of dreams so vivid that the servant would later proclaim the events had occurred before her waking eyes.

The first thing the servant witnessed was a great city suspended over a seemingly endless expanse of harsh, unforgiving desert, and though its every detail should have been perfectly exposed by the glaring rays of sunlight beating down upon it the city was instead shrouded in a thick, somehow tangible cloud of deep darkness. Very few aspects of the scope of its indisputably noble architecture were bared to her curious eyes, but she studied it with a manic obsession that the goddess was most pleased to witness. The structure was impressive, certainly, but it was just that – the designated location for all that the goddess had in store. She was largely unfamiliar with many aspects of the Surface World, but this was a place that she knew well enough through reputation alone. This was Thultanthar, the stronghold of the Empire of Shade, the last of the once-great floating cities that had once housed the all-powerful archwizards of the Netherese Imperium.

The image vanished and for a moment there was only a comforting and somehow familiar blackness, and then the goddess was imparting more of her wisdom. The servant spied upon a great audience hall, all smooth black marble shrouded in silvery mist and unfathomably high ceilings and walls cloaked in perpetual shadow. There was a great monarch seated in a bejeweled onyx throne at the top of a raised platform, his features obscured by the protective veil of shadows that clung to the shades at all times, and kneeling at the bottommost stair of the dias was another shade. Though physically he was not as imposing or impressive as the great king to which he displayed his obeisance it was upon him that the goddess bent her attention, and so the servant did also: there were two prominent features that suggested perhaps he was not the pure-blooded Netherese that he pretended to be, and it was those two traits that alerted the servant to who he really was.

The first was the fact that his ears were longer and came to a point, alluding to some elven heritage. The second was the eyes he set upon that great king – eyes of a cunning, perceptive amber. Eyes that she, and every single one of her kind, knew all too well.

It was easy for the servant to impart her outrage at the amber-eyed shade's presence to her goddess, and for a moment the deity even reveled in that rage before bidding her to be silent. There was no mistaking that shade – once a renegade drow, one of the most hated of the dark elves for all the chaos and havoc he had wrecked against their beloved Spider Queen. He was Lim Tal'eyve, a fugitive in the City of Menzoberranzan and now the pawn of the Tanthul family in their fanatical bid to utterly eradicate the Spider Queen in the name of Shar. He was a traitor, an abomination, and she knew in that instant that if her beloved goddess had come to order her to hunt him down she would accept gladly.

But the goddess was not yet finished professing her will to her all-too-obedient follower.

The king and his advisor faded from view, to be replaced almost immediately by a series of even briefer, less coherent visions that the goddess's servant didn't immediately understand. At first she grasped at them frantically, desperate to serve to the best of her ability but fallible as mortals often are, but her goddess was determined that this be the only time they commune on the subject and showed to her a patience and attention to detail that she was far from known for. After a time the servant had all but committed these visions to memory, allowing her deity to paint the prophetic images onto the blank canvas that was her subconscious mind, and gradually she came to understand.

In an impossibly dark room a sovereign slept soundly, oblivious to his own surroundings, and though he was well-guarded there slipped unwelcome into his midst a cloaked and hooded figure who moved with the stealth of a ghost. For a moment he became one with the shadows, almost as though he was meant to exist within them, and then with the flash of a backlit blade he had slit the throat of the slumbering monarch.

Upon a sweeping balcony overlooking a great pavilion of fine villas a shade with protuberant silver eyes, clearly not of the Tanthul family but favored of the High Prince judging by his dress, was locked in fierce battle with a masked stranger who appeared at first glance to be little more than a commoner. They moved gracefully around one another though they brandished no weapons; the battle was waged within their minds, the most powerful forces they commanded at their disposal, and at last the shade collapsed lifelessly to the ground as his mind was senselessly and hopelessly crushed.

Within the near-lightless audience chamber of the great monarch a Prince of Shade clad in the garb of a master assassin stood at the rim of a basin in which a series of magically conjured images played, talking almost companionably to his sovereign, and the moment he trained his gaze upon the enchanted looking glass the monarch smirked in utter victory and stabbed the prince in the back with a serrated short sword. A gout of blood exploded from the prince's lips as he cried out in rage and betrayal and the visage of the great sovereign melted away, revealing in his place a male drow with a jagged scar over his right eye.

In a wide hall in full view of well-dressed civilians a dark-haired spellcaster with luminous violet eyes took up a mighty staff against a female drow sorceress, hatred in their eyes and oblivious to the screams of the innocent bystanders. The violet-eyed wizard, in her obvious exhaustion, attempted to launch a spell that failed to cast, and with a triumphant cry her dark elf adversary brought to life a pack of ravenous hell hounds that engulfed her and tore her to shreds.

Beneath a great banner bearing the Tanthul family crest, at the end of an aisle littered with brilliant purple flowers, a half-elf in a magnificent violet ball gown stood helplessly in the hands of a drow with piercing fuchsia eyes. The familiar backlit blade rested upon the wintry skin of the half-elf's exposed throat, and to the horror of the gathered congregation of shades and Shadovar the assassin ruthlessly plunged his blade into her chest.

And then the servant saw herself, the picture of her goddess's great and terrible retribution, as she plunged her treasured ceremonial dagger into the heaving chest of Lim Tal'eyve and dug out the shadow orb that sustained his wretched existence.

That was the moment when Quartana Baenre, second daughter of Matron Mother Quenthel Baenre of Menzoberranzan, startled out of her deep late night Reverie with the divine words of her beloved goddess Lolth reverberating throughout her mind.

 _Let it now be war upon them all._


	2. Oh, How Times Have Changed

His day started early more out of necessity than by choice, his routine long since interrupted by the miscellany of tasks he had taken upon himself as added precautions to securing the continued tranquility in the realm of High Prince Telamont. He alerted no one as to his passing, skipping his morning meal and dressing silently before slinking out of his own villa on foot, slipping over the guardrail of his second floor balcony and dropping noiselessly into the courtyard before stealing through The Circle completely undetected. The cobblestoned avenue that wended artfully through The Circle, leading both north to the palace and south into the Upper District, was devoid of foot traffic – it wasn't quite five o' clock in the morning **,** and he supposed his brothers had yet to stir from their slumber much less begin attending to their daily business.

Oh, if only they knew the things that transpired while they lay unsuspecting in their beds.

He crept first to Villa Tareia, the private residence of his youngest brother Brennus Tanthul. Displaying an upper body strength that the casual onlooker would be shocked to see in one of his compact stature he easily scaled the southeastern wall, seizing the guardrail of the small balcony on the floor above and hauling himself noiselessly over the side and coming down softly on the balls of his feet; thankfully the curtains to the room within were drawn, and he was not seen. As it was he paused to listen, his ear cocked in the direction of the bedchamber, and only deemed it safe to move ahead when he perceived the soft, rhythmic breathing of the slumbering occupant within. For a fleeting moment he considered parting the curtain and admitting himself, if for no better reason than to seek answers to half a dozen of his most burning questions, but he sublimated the urge with a silent reminder of the urgency of his real charge. There was no knowing just how much time he had before being discovered – his curiosities would just have to wait.

There was a wrought iron spiral staircase built into the balcony, wrapping around the back corner of the villa and ascending upward to the rooftop; with sure steps he scaled it to the observation platform, too engrossed in the task at hand to pause and admire the breathtaking view from that point. From the deck he proceeded north and peered cautiously over the side, investigating the second, wider balcony now directly beneath him for any signs of activity. At first glance it appeared that he was quite alone, but in his line of work he was nothing if not perpetually cautious; he set the barbed head of his grappling hook firmly in place before tugging once or twice on the cord attached to ensure its stability, and then propelled himself down the sheer face of the wall toward the balcony.

At the top right corner of the open-air window he set his feet into place and looped the taut cord securely around his right arm, crouching as near to the wall as he could get, and bracing his left hand against the black stone he leaned until he could peer inside. It was fortunate that he had taken such precautions in his approach, for the curtain was ajar and the occupant of the chamber within was awake and pacing feverishly from one end of the room to the other, hands clasped behind his back and head bowed as though deep in thought. Never before had Twelfth Prince Brennus looked quite so dejected; his bronze eyes were dulled with defeat and the crease in his forehead was so defined that it seemed as though it may as well have been chiseled permanently into his expression. Every so often he cast a disapproving glance at the open window, or perhaps the balcony, or even something beyond the boundaries of his residence, and it took the lingering Fourth Prince Aglarel a handful of seconds to determine just what it was to which Brennus was devoting such disgruntled attention: carefully, so as not to dislodge himself from his precarious position and make his presence known, he shifted his weight, freed up his left hand from the wall, and leaned in a few inches closer with his fingertips hovering uncertainly just millimeters from the drawn curtain.

Something prickled beneath his outstretched hand, reacting to his proximity; it felt almost as though a mild electric current were humming beneath his palm, poised to surge its energy into the first unfortunate soul foolish enough to come in direct contact with it. Aglarel wisely snatched his hand back, ignoring the unpleasant tingling in his fingertips as he trained his gaze back upon his youngest brother; Brennus was still worrying a track in the carpet underfoot, scowling at the nigh-invisible barrier separating him from the whole of the enclave, but beneath his obvious enmity there was a note of very real anxiety in his eyes.

If there was any truth behind the sordid rumors that had followed Brennus and his pet doppelganger home from their fated journey to Castle Tethyr, Aglarel supposed his youngest brother had good reason to be uneasy.

Tightening the corded muscles in his arms Aglarel scrabbled easily back up the wall until he had reached the observation deck, mulling over this development with a slight frown as he dislodged his grappling hook from the platform, and once he had secured his tools upon his belt he stole back down the spiral staircase to the balcony below and leapt easily for the ground. Concealed within the protective foliage of the Twelfth Prince's rear-facing garden he cast his keen silver eyes skyward, marking the position of the barely-visible sun through the thick curtains of protective shadow. It was just past five.

Aglarel wended his way stealthily through the well-tended flora and fauna of the garden, crouching down beside the recently-trimmed hedgerows and squinting through to the cobblestoned avenue beyond. He wasn't made to wait for long – a minute passed, perhaps two, and then the doors of Villa Cambria eased open to admit the shadow-swathed figure of Lim Tal'eyve.

 _Right on time_ , Aglarel mused with a smirk.

The drow-shade paused within the arch of the doorway, his shrewd amber gaze darting all about as he perused the avenue for prying eyes, and when he had assured himself that he was alone he hitched a hood up around his face and made with all speed out of The Circle and into the Upper District.

The Fourth Prince gave him fifty paces before following along behind, keeping close to the buildings on the right side of the lane, careful always to leave himself a measure of cover for his quarry cast frequent suspicious gazes over his shoulder as though he expected to be accosted at any moment. When the superior craftsmanship of the structures of the Upper District gave way to the simpler, far less grand buildings that comprised the Lower District the Fourth Prince took to higher ground, moving along in a crouch, marking well the drow-shade's passing from on high and skipping gracefully from rooftop to rooftop at an easy pace. He shadowed Lim all the way past the barracks where the lower class military members belonging to the Army of Shade were housed, past the veserab stables to the little-used and slightly run-down hovels where Thultanthar's less-than-fortunate were often housed; upon the crumbling roof of one of these structures Aglarel paused, his breath still within his lungs and his muscles tensed for action as the subject of his attention approached one of the dilapidated shacks and rapped upon its door a few times with his knuckles. For a moment there was only silence – Aglarel surreptitiously pulled his cowl lower over his face – and then the door eased open to reveal Tenth Prince Rapha.

For his part, Aglarel couldn't help but scowl. The appearance of his younger brother in a place like this could only mean that some sort of camaraderie had struck up between the two, he knew, and the prospects were not at all promising. At best Lim and Rapha were providing one another with counsel – at worst they were co-conspirators in any number of devious plots the goals of which Aglarel could only begin to speculate.

The unlikely pair exchanged a brief, hushed greeting between them before Rapha stood away from the door, a clear indicator that Lim should come inside; the drow-shade admitted himself without hesitation, casting one last searching glance over his shoulder before pulling the door shut smartly behind him. Aglarel descended from the adjacent rooftop at once, setting his fingers gingerly upon the handle and giving it an experimental turn, unsurprised to find that it had been locked already. He turned his back on the seedy building with a deepening frown, mulling over this unforeseen and unwelcome turn of events, hardly inclined to trespass any further and bring unwanted attention to his passing.

He knew what was on the other side of that door, of course – strong enchantments had been weaved into the building's foundation, giving it the look of an abandoned hovel, but Aglarel knew better. If one could only strip away the protective dweomers surrounding the structure they would find Tenth Prince Rapha's harem within; dusty, rotting floorboards were in truth richly woven, lavish carpets, holes in the floor were actually steam baths, and the collapsed bedroom in the back was a private corner where Rapha often entertained himself about his more carnal pursuits. Aglarel had visited the place once or twice, but that had been decades ago – his tastes had refined since then, and he no longer had any use for the scraping bottom-feeders that frequented the establishment.

Clearly Lim Tal'eyve was enjoying having a body again, he reasoned wryly, and casting his gaze upward a second time he tracked the movement of the little-seen sun and cursed beneath his breath. It was now nearer to six o' clock in the morning than five, which meant that he was behind schedule for his next order of business.

Turning on his heel Fourth Prince Aglarel dissolved into thousands of particles of blackness, bound for the seclusion of the Plane of Shadow, and made with all haste toward the Palace Most High.

* * *

There was already a single figure kneeling at the base of the short staircase leading up to the High Prince's ornate onyx throne by the time Aglarel arrived; he chose not to intrude but instead to observe from afar, keeping to the shadows that lingered at the far corners of the audience chamber instead of announcing himself. His sovereign lord and father High Prince Telamont Tanthul, ruler of the City of Shade, cut as impressive a figure as always in his dark purple tabard, luxurious black cloak, and the high crown of platinum and sapphires that were the sacred jewels of lost Netheril, but it was the diminutive figure prostrated before him that drew Aglarel's undivided attention in that moment. She wore the charcoal gray robes of the senior arcanists of the Shadow Mages College, imbued with subtle yet powerful protective wards that Aglarel could feel even at a distance; she wore her lustrous black hair chin length in the front and tapering into a shorter pixie cut in the back, a delicate headdress of silver and pearl woven into the strands, and before her she had lain a magnificent white scepter with a stunning, softly-glowing azure stone set into its head. The moment the High Prince rose from his throne she dared to lift her gaze, her luminous violet eyes shining through the encroaching gloom.

"Aveil Arthien," Telamont was saying, his arms outstretched almost reverently, and Aveil's lips parted as she smiled. "I have called you here today to bestow upon you the accolades you have earned through your continued loyalty and dedication to the Princes of Shade. Through a combination of your discreet conduct, your surrender to these higher powers, and your virtuous demeanor you have proven yourself worthy of my trust, as well as my generosity and gratitude. Will you accept the gifts I have prepared for you?"

"Exalted Lord," Aveil responded, her tone one of utmost humility, "I am deeply honored to receive your favor, for I feel it is a precious thing that I in no way deserve. If it pleases you to bestow gifts upon me I will accept them, and I thank you for your unceasing bounty. You are gracious beyond measure."

"Then arise," the High Prince bade her, clearly pleased with her response, "and approach."

The former Archmistress of the Citadel of Assassins rose sinuously to her feet, leaving her favored weapon the Staff of Winter's Chill upon the polished black marble underfoot as she stepped gingerly over it and ascended the short staircase to the High Prince's throne; once there she dipped her head respectfully but Telamont captured her chin gently in one of his shadowy hands, guiding her gaze until their eyes met, and he actually offered her a tiny smile of encouragement. Next to him Aveil looked undeniably fragile, a little waif of a snow elf princess dwarfed by the greatness of the High Prince of Shade, but in the face of his acceptance she glowed brighter than a star. The sight of it may have turned one corner of Fourth Prince Aglarel's mouth upward briefly into the faintest of smiles, but there were none present to witness the phenomena.

Telamont put out his other hand, and the Staff of Winter's Chill stirred from where it lay and levitated at his express command; it remained suspended just inches from them for a moment as Telamont surveyed it shrewdly, and then he snapped his fingers and the artifact was suddenly and irreversibly destroyed, shattered into millions of shards of alabaster wood. Aveil flinched, obviously affected by the destruction of her most powerful weapon, but Telamont chuckled in a manner that was both foreboding and reassuring and she glanced back up at him with curiosity in her eyes.

"You won't be needing that anymore," Telamont told her, his tone mock disapproving. "It may have been a superior weapon for the Archmistress of the Citadel of Assassins to wield, but it is now decidedly beneath your station. Allow me to fashion for you a suitable replacement…" And waving his free hand over the splinters of wood he began to construct another artifact, a stronger artifact, something within which Aglarel sensed was bound a magic far older than even his sovereign.

Sometimes even he was amazed at the scope of his sovereign's abilities, for sometimes it seemed as if they were indeed limitless.

The fractured, seemingly ruined wood fragments leapt one by one from the floor into the High Prince's hand, vibrating with the strength of half-formed enchantments that the Most High was weaving into the weapon's very essence; as the shaft of the new artifact mended itself together the wood, once white as snow, seemed to absorb the particles of shadow enshrouding Telamont's outstretched hand, growing darker and darker until the wood appeared as ebony. The shaft smoothed and elongated, thrumming with the magical potential of the Shadow Weave, until the High Prince seemed pleased enough with its construction and pointed one shadowy index finger at the only aspect of the previous relic that hadn't been destroyed at the outset – the coolly glowing azure stone, still pulsating faintly upon the smoky black marble. The gem rose at his command and set itself snugly into the intricately-formed head of the scepter; for a moment the two diverse magics, that of darkness and that of ice, warred with one another, but then the High Prince tightened his outstretched hand into a fist and the two energies coalesced into a harmonious whole.

The black staff settled into Telamont's hand and he inspected it with a practiced eye for flaws, but after only a handful of seconds he nodded, pleased with his work, and handed it over to Aveil; for her part, the diminutive spellcaster couldn't help the awed expression upon her face the moment she took the priceless treasure into her hands for the very first time. The azure stone sparked electric blue at her touch, as though in some way it recognized its intended wielder, but the light faded just as quickly as it had intensified and settled for shimmering coolly in her grasp.

"I present you with a magical tool far more fitting of someone of your elevated station," Telamont announced, his platinum eyes twinkling down at the scepter he had just made. "It is called Stygian Invidia, forged from the kind of deep darkness that only flows within the fell sea that doomed souls must ferry across in order to reach the nether world, the envy of the demons of shadow. In it I have also bound the frigid harshness of your own Frostfell, for it is an unforgiving and formidable magic the likes of which I have yet to see any mortal wield with more skill than you." Aveil ducked her head in an effort to conceal her growing blush, but the High Prince missed nothing in his realm and only smirked down at the back of her head as though amused before continuing, "Henceforth you shall bear the title Sceptrana of Thultanthar, for you are now the authority on arcane magic within my court. It also pleases me to inform you that you are now an official member of the Shadow Council – this news I will impart upon my other advisors, that they will know from this moment forward to include you in their workings here."

Aveil fell to her knees before him, the staff Stygian Invidia clutched close to her chest in reverence, her face aglow with disbelief; watching her kneel before the High Prince so willingly, Aglarel felt something deep within his chest twitch with something that could only be pride. "Most High One, words fail me. I only wish there was something I could give you in return, that you might understand how grateful I am to be the recipient of your unceasing bounty."

Telamont chuckled politely into the back of one shadowy hand, ushering her back to her feet with a gentle tutting sound. "You have already given me all that I have desired of you from the start – your unfaltering dedication to the advancement of Thultanthar and its interests, as well as your loyalty to myself and the Twelve Princes of Shade. I tell you this, Lady Arthien – if you continue to serve us in this manner, I will continue to bestow favor upon you."

Aveil smiled serenely, turning the staff over in her hands with wonder in her eyes. "It is my duty and my pleasure to assist you however I may, High Prince."

"Of that, there can be no doubt." Telamont wound an arm around her lithe shoulders and led her down the short staircase, moving at a leisurely pace for the great double doors that separated the audience hall from the many bustling corridors of the Palace Most High. "Now I must insist that you return to your duties, for do you not have responsibilities at the Shadow Mages College you must attend to?"

"Oh yes." Aveil was looking pleased. "I have been assisting Seventh Prince Dethud about his necromancy chamber, and I have also been sharing in some of the lectures on archaeology and lore with Eleventh Prince Melegaunt in the absence of Twelfth Prince Brennus. The topics are fascinating and the material most enlightening – I am fortunate."

"Fortune smiles on the faithful," the High Prince confided with a conspiratorial wink, and with that he gave her a gentle push toward the door. "I suppose you had best be off… Oh, and Aveil." The female spellcaster stood poised at the great double doors, one hand outstretched to excuse herself, and a pensive expression flitted across the wizened monarch's face as he added, "Do not be disheartened that these proceedings were a private matter. Often my sons show little interest in any non-shade, or any that cannot claim they share the Tanthul family bloodline, for that matter… I will say that I understand their logic, however allow me to say also that I do not necessarily agree with it."

Aveil raised her chin a fraction, unfazed, and said, "Respect must be earned. I will not lament."

"Rest assured they will all hear of your ascension," Telamont promised, and with a final bow of obeisance Aveil passed out of the audience chamber and into the corridor beyond. The moment the great double doors had snapped shut behind her the High Prince looked to the shadows at the far end of the chamber – to the precise place where Aglarel was lingering silently, watching the entire formal exchange – and nodded once in wordless understanding.

Of course his sovereign had been mindful of his presence. Nothing escaped his notice – not even the passing of his favored fourth son, whose movements were more often than not silent as a wraith's.

Aglarel waited a few beats, content for the present to linger in the eerie silence of the High Prince's audience chamber with the cloak of welcoming shadows wrapping almost intimately around his form, until he was certain he had given Aveil enough time to make her way to the palace entrance. The shadow walk was brief for him, and in only a matter of seconds he was stepping out of the deep shadow cast by one of the doors thrown wide and drawing right up to her side. For her part Aveil looked only a little surprised, and briefly the Fourth Prince wondered if she had been aware of his presence at her ascension all the while. She offered him a respectful bow, and purely out of congratulation at her recently acquired accolade he bent slightly at the waist in acknowledgement. "Sceptrana."

"Prince," she replied, with the smallest of flattered smiles. "I wondered if perhaps you were in attendance. Why did you not show yourself?"

Aglarel offered her a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders as though it was of little consequence. "It was a moment for you and the High Prince to enjoy, and not one for me to intrude upon. I was content to observe. You are well deserving of the title the Most High has bestowed upon you."

A faint pink tinge crept back into Aveil's cheeks and she turned away from him, setting off down the wide stone staircase that led down from the palace gates to the cobblestoned avenue sprawling artfully into The Circle, the collection of fine residences that housed the members of the High Prince's exalted Shadow Council. Smirking at her back the Fourth Prince followed along, marveling yet again at just how easy it was to please mortal creatures. Upon the bottommost stair Aveil glanced over her shoulder at him, her face more composed now, her smile stolen by some more pressing thought. "Have you some news?"

The assassin gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, his eyes narrowed at her words, and his meaning did not escape Aveil. _Not here_ , it was meant to say. _Too many eyes, too many ears._ Then he exhaled sharply through his nose and rolled his eyes to the heavens, saying, "Greater news than your new title? I should hope not." He passed her by then, his expression most telling, and Aveil fell obediently into step one pace behind him as they wended their way through The Circle; they were silent as they proceeded, and Aveil cast her gaze around in awe of her surroundings as she so often did.

The Circle was little changed in the time that she had been dwelling within the City of Shade, but that didn't make it any less breathtaking. Smooth stones gave way to wrought iron fences lining each individual compound, beyond which lay sweeping, well-manicured grounds and gardens leading up to the most magnificent private residences imaginable. No two villas were quite the same – Aveil had heard it told that Second Prince Rivalen's home housed a great shine to the goddess Shar, whom he served as High Priest, and that Fifth Prince Clariburnus boasted the most impressive armory of any of his brothers. All of the structures exhibited similar construction – buttresses and elegant archways, gothic and modern all in one, a true testament to the refined tastes of the Twelve Princes of Shade. The pavilion was comprised of fourteen residences in all, one for each of Telamont's twelve sons, one for Hadrhune, the High Prince's shadow sorcerer, and another for Soleil, the Most High's mountebank. At present Phendrana, the doppelganger from the World Below and another new inductee of the Shadow Council, was inhabiting the residence of Twelfth Prince Brennus, and Aveil herself was still comfortable enough in one of the guest rooms within Aglarel's own home. They had discovered in recent days that Lim Tal'eyve was still dwelling within the palace for whatever reason, though they had yet to determine the High Prince's motivations for keeping him there.

As they approached the Fourth Prince's home - Villa Hara, nestled on the extreme left side of The Circle very near the palace gates - Aveil's eyes inevitably fell upon the grand centerpiece of the pavilion, the fountain that the High Prince had ordered commissioned to pay homage to the great rulers of Thultanthar. Currently it was under construction, for the High Prince had recently welcomed a few new members of the Shadow Council into the fold; the ebony statue of Lim Tal'eyve had already been erected between the figures of Soleil and Hadrhune, the Anointed Blade from his days leading the Jaezred Chaulssin sheathed upon his hip, and another half-finished figure, this one of Phendrana, was even now being carefully crafted by a handful of artisans from the Lower District. When finished it would be the likeness of the doppelganger in a defensive crouch in front of a far more serene visage of Twelfth Prince Brennus, in whose arms was cradled a book of Netherese lore, which Aveil thought was quite fitting.

Aglarel followed her gaze but misinterpreted it at first, saying, "Now that the High Prince has seen fit to elevate you into a position of power, I have no doubt that construction will begin upon a statue in your likeness soon."

"I am hardly concerned with it," Aveil admitted honestly, waving one hand in dismissal, but her eyes unwittingly flitted to the great marble visage of Fourth Prince Aglarel which she privately admitted was the most impressive of them all in her eyes. It exuded formidability and mystery, just like the prince after which it was modeled; it stood near to the center but slightly off to one side, hinting at a protective yet aloof demeanor, and he stood straight and calm as though impervious to the demands of the outside world. His hand was wrapped around the hilt of some unseen weapon, the sentinel's silent warning that he would strike if provoked, and his was the only statue whose eyes were obscured from view by the low-pulled cowl he wore. Fleetingly Aveil found herself wondering if she would soon be looking back at an unmoving statue of herself at his side, for if the figures in the fountain were modeled in a truthful interpretation of their purposes here then she could think of no place more fitting for her own to stand.

They had reached the door by then, where one of the Fourth Prince's housekeeping staff was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to escort them inside; Aveil shook herself out of her musings and hurried after him, waving away one of the attendant's offers to set her staff aside for her in the vast foyer.

"Can you not bear to part with it?" Aglarel teased darkly, already waiting for her on the bottommost stair leading up to the second floor, for his servants were well-trained not to approach him unless he commanded it – the Fourth Prince was strangely adverse to physical contact of any kind on most occasions.

Aveil's attention returned to the staff, unable to contain a laugh when she saw just how tightly her fingers were curled around its smooth shaft. "It seems I am rather attached to it," she admitted. "A more precious gift I have never received. I shall treasure it."

"As well you should," Aglarel agreed, and together they trouped upstairs toward the Fourth Prince's private quarters.

Though Aglarel was outranked only by his brothers Escanor, Rivalen, and Lamorak he lived perhaps more modestly than any among the Twelve Princes of Shade; he was dedicated wholly to carrying out the will of the High Prince and had little need for luxury or finery, for he seldom spent much leisure time in his own home. His private quarters were thus sparsely furnished - an ornamental bookcase that concealed a secret entrance into the subterranean Assassin's Guild, a magnificent four-poster bed dressed in deep crimson and black, a chest-of-drawers in which he stored the finer pieces of his rather limited wardrobe, and an elaborate glass cabinet upon which was stacked his priceless collection of ceremonial daggers. This was Aveil's favorite personal effect of his, for each weapon was unique and hand-crafted by the prince himself to carry out personal assassinations at the order of his sovereign. Each piece in the assortment had only ever taken one life, a sure sign that while Aglarel might strive to remain detached from most situations he was perhaps more deeply invested in his work than he ever let on.

Aveil studiously closed the door behind her to ensure they had complete privacy while they discussed the prince's business, and when she turned back it was to find that Aglarel had removed his assassin's shroud and draped it along the top of the chest-of-drawers. It was one of those seemingly insignificant movements that reminded Aveil just how far they had come in only a few short tendays - not long ago the Fourth Prince had regarded her with suspicion and open disdain, and now he was willing to allow her to glimpse beneath the cowl that he so often used to obscure his features. In the absence of the hood his face was unmistakably noble, regal features that included high cheekbones, jewel-bright eyes the color of moonlight, and the slightest point to the tips of his ears that Aveil had suspected on more than one occasion could not be attributed to his Netherese ancestry. Truth be told she often wondered if there wasn't more to the Fourth Prince's lineage than he ever let on; he kept himself purposefully distanced from the rest of his kin and the rest of the High Prince's progeny often regarded him a little too stiffly, a little too formally – almost as though he were the black sheep of the family. Not that she would ever consider voicing these observations aloud – she suspected Aglarel would become quite cross with her if she ever did so.

"I may have determined the reason for Brennus's seclusion," Aglarel began in a hushed voice.

Nearly a lunar cycle ago Brennus had determined the location of an ancient and long-forgotten Netherese armory somewhere in the vicinity of Castle Tethyr and the High Prince, always anxious to preserve even a fragment of the history of their ancestors, had charged his youngest son with excavating the area and returning the weapons and artifacts entombed within to the City of Shade. Brennus had readily agreed, choosing a small entourage of retainers of various skills to accompany him - as well as the doppelganger Phendrana, who put forth little effort to disguise his obvious affection for the Twelfth Prince. The information Aglarel and Aveil had managed to scrape together regarding the events that had transpired during the search for the armory was limited at best – they knew only that the armory had been discovered beneath the castle's foundations, and that the armory had been successfully emptied and transported back to the enclave – but Brennus's return was itself shrouded in mystery. Neither the prince nor the doppelganger had been seen since the conclusion of their business, and the High Prince had yet to discuss the particulars of their transgressions with anyone.

"Oh?" Aveil baited at length, cocking an eyebrow in obvious interest.

Aglarel drew out one of the chairs that stood around the ovular dining table near the door and deposited himself into it, and Aveil hastened to occupy the seat directly across from him. "Yes – and I no longer believe his absence from council matters to be self-imposed. I have reason to believe that my brother has been placed under house arrest."

Aveil propped her staff upright against the empty chair on her right side, her expression one of complete puzzlement. "How can that be? Surely only the High Prince has the authority to confine Brennus to his own home?"

"Yes," Aglarel agreed pointedly, staring back at her with a hard expression. "You are correct."

The Sceptrana mulled the idea over in her mind for a moment, at a loss to explain such a development. Twelfth Prince Brennus was something of a prodigy child within the City of Shade – he was widely considered the most intellectual of the Princes of Shade for he had all but dedicated himself to preserving the lore of ancient Netheril as well as educating all young arcanists in the Shadow Mages College of their ancestors' history. Telamont did well not to favor any of his sons above the others, but it wasn't far off the mark to say that the great monarch of Thultanthar harbored a soft spot for his youngest son.

At length Aveil voiced her thoughts. "If your hypothesis proves true, then Brennus must have committed a grievous misdemeanor indeed… What could he have done, I wonder, to earn himself such a severe punishment?"

"I know not," Aglarel confessed, "though my instincts tell me that it must have something to do with the doppelganger. For what do we know of their pilgrimage to Castle Tethyr? That when they left the pair of them entertained the High Prince's utmost favor, and that upon their return they both shut themselves away from the public eye."

"Did any among the council even witness their return?" Aveil wondered, and the Fourth Prince shook his head slowly, thoughtfully.

"No – I was about the palace on my security patrols when I heard them arrive, but I did not admit myself to the audience hall for I felt my presence would not be tolerated. I heard little of their exchange with the Most High, but whatever transpired while they were away has severely displeased him."

"And if you will permit me to ask," Aveil inquired hesitantly, "what reason do you have to believe that Brennus is being forcibly confined?"

There sounded a tentative knock upon the door, and when Aglarel barked an acknowledgement a trio of his demure housekeeping staff entered with a light morning meal consisting mostly of fruit. They did not make eye contact or speak, and were quick about their business; Aveil didn't know when the prince had called for a meal to be brought up, and knew better than to ask. Aglarel was busying himself about a pear when he chose to answer her. "I spied upon his villa this morning, though I didn't allow myself to tarry for fear of being discovered. There seems to be a protective field encompassing Brennus's private quarters, and from what I know of such measures such an enchantment would serve no other purpose but to keep him from departing. I suspect it to be of the High Prince's doing for it was constructed of the same ancient magic I feel bound within your staff – it is well that I did not come into physical contact with it or attempt to shadow walk beyond it, for I cannot help but think that some ill would have befallen me if I had."

One of the housekeeping staff had left a fine porcelain teapot complete with cup and saucer at one end of the table for Aveil's use; the Sceptrana gratefully poured herself a cup, adding a small spoonful of sugar from the jar near the water pitcher before blowing delicately at the steam wafting upward. "And the doppelganger, Phendrana? Has a similar fate befallen him?"

"Not from what I can tell. I have haunted the doppelganger's balcony once or twice in the past tenday; I can feel no such magic emanating from his window, but the curtains are always drawn and I have yet to catch a glimpse of him." Aglarel shrugged yet again as he finished, "He is hiding something."

Aveil didn't disagree. "Why else would he voluntarily remove himself from all affairs of the state?"

"Precisely." The prince returned to his pear for a moment, considering, before adding in an undertone, "I shall have to investigate the matter further."

"How might I assist you?" Aveil asked, sipping gingerly at her tea and helping herself to a starfruit, eager to please.

"When the true scope of this ordeal becomes known to me," Aglarel responded cryptically, "I will determine whether or not I have use for you."

It was a tribute to just how much Aveil's outlook had changed in the past several tendays that she did not take offense to the prince's less than favorable answer; not long ago his offhanded remark would have sparked a rage within her and more than likely a quarrel between the two of them, but now she simply conceded the logic behind the decision and chose not to argue. Aglarel had entrusted a great many responsibilities to her of late, matters that he wouldn't even discuss with anyone else, and she felt no need to question her usefulness to him.

"There is a further matter we would do well to discuss," Aglarel said at length, rousing Aveil from her musings, and when he was certain he had her undivided attention he continued. "It seems Lim has fallen in with Rapha."

Aveil uttered a tiny sigh, but could hardly bring herself to feel surprised by this news. From her limited contact with Tenth Prince Rapha she knew him to be the most ill-tempered of the High Prince's sons, not to mention by far the vainest. He attended classes and lectures regularly at the Hall of the Arts Martial, of which he was a senior member and instructor, but other than those few appearances and his daily duties of attending Shadow Court council sessions he had no real responsibilities to attend to. From all that she knew of Lim Tal'eyve she felt that he and Rapha would get along rather well together – he was equally volatile, in her opinion, and every bit as ambitious and lewd as the Tenth Prince.

Lim Tal'eyve's rise into the High Prince's utmost favor had been more than swift – it had been sudden, unexpected, and completely unprecedented. Telamont's decision to make the drow a shade had been met with a general outcry of opposition from the Shadow Council but they had no real power to override it – the High Prince's word was law within Thultanthar, and though the Twelve Princes of Shade were permitted to voice their opinions on any matter they had no power to overturn an edict put forth by their sovereign. To most parties involved it seemed that Lim had gone from being named an enemy of Thultanthar for his role in leading a host of phaerimm into the city and massacring scores of the High Prince's loyal subjects to receiving the highest honor that the High Prince had the power to bestow upon anyone almost overnight – made worse by virtue of the fact that Telamont had chosen not to share his motivations for doing so with his advisors. Aglarel and Aveil knew far more than was permitted or wise, but only because they had been directly involved in the affairs leading to the drow's ascension. They both knew better than to share these secrets with anyone else, and so the High Prince had seen no reason to threaten them into silence as of yet.

"A troublesome pair," Aveil responded at length, her gaze upon the flames of the softened candles resting upon the headboard of the prince's magnificent four poster. "But logical. They have much in common… It was only a matter of time before Lim began approaching members of the Shadow Court with his hand extended in friendship."

"Oh?" said Aglarel, surveying her shrewdly over the rim of his water glass. "You foresaw this and said nothing of it?"

Aveil shrugged as though it hardly mattered. "Before Lim met his death at the hands of Drako Falconis he had surrounded himself with powerful allies – so much so that he was willing to pay for the luxury of having 'friends', no matter what the price of friendship was. Doubtless now that he has returned to the world of the living and he is far beyond the Spider Queen's influence he will fall back into his old habits… First and foremost among these is securing allies that he believes he can manipulate to his own ends."

Aglarel set his glass aside, his face stern. "He would have little difficulty molding Rapha to meet his agenda, I'm sure. As long as Rapha retains the ability to meet his basest desires, he cares for little else."

"Then it is likely you will see more of them together in the future," Aveil concluded darkly. "How certain are you that Lim has approached Rapha? Have you seen them together?"

A shadow crossed the Fourth Prince's face then, as though he had been hoping to somehow avoid this inquiry, but his answer was truthful – he knew well enough how insistent Aveil could be when she felt she had good reason. "Rapha's harem."

At first Aveil only chuckled beneath her breath and waved one hand dismissively, as though this was nothing at all out of the ordinary. "Well, where else would you have seen them together? Rapha spends more time there than he does his own villa, does he not? And doubtless all of Lim's desires are rooted very strongly in his physical needs, since for so long he has been without such things." Then realization finished dawning on her, and she dropped her hands to her sides as her eyes doubled in size and her jaw dropped slightly open. "Wait… you were there, weren't you? Rapha's harem? How else would you have known they were there?"

"I might have heard it from a reliable source," Aglarel replied with a snicker, resigned now to her inquiries and hoping to find a little sport at her expense.

"Except you said you _saw_ them," Aveil pointed out disdainfully, "not that someone else told you _they_ saw them. So which is it?"

Aglarel flashed his ceremonial fangs again, pleased when Aveil's eyes flitted instantly to them as though startled; as the unnatural red flames were the only illumination in the entire room the candlelight stained his fangs crimson, as though they were soaked with blood. "I saw them with my own eyes, for I was also there. What of it?"

Aveil reclaimed her half-full teacup and took a dainty sip as she made a show of rolling her eyes; Aglarel cocked his head to one side and lifted one eyebrow again, silently daring her to voice her thoughts. "I find it interesting, of course. I have long been under the impression that the Fourth Prince of the City of Shade possessed a level of self-control that those around him could hardly begin to fathom… I see now that I was wrong."

Aglarel's expression went from mild amusement to a kind of simmering rage in the blink of an eye; the hostility emanating from him was so strong that Aveil's primary instinct now was to flee, but she mastered herself with a few shallow, slow breaths. "Do not bring my self-control into question," he warned her when he had mastered his sudden anger, "for that is not the issue here. The issue is that I followed the drow to the harem and observed him and Rapha striking up a camaraderie there. Never did I insinuate that I was _inside_ the structure when I caught sight of them – you assumed as much on your own."

"Why wouldn't I assume as much?" Aveil asked with a shrug. "I find you to be a letch."

"And I find you meddlesome," the Fourth Prince fired back just as easily, settling back into his chair as though suddenly he believed himself to hold the upper hand in this debate. "My life has been long. Why should I not entertain private female companionship, if that is something I choose to do?"

"You are free to do as you will," Aveil retorted with a scoff. "I merely assumed you had better taste. I do not hold your brother Rapha in very high esteem – I can only imagine the sort of riffraff that inhabits his harem, and would have thought such mean creatures to be… beneath someone of your import."

"You flatter me," Aglarel shot back, his voice saturated with sarcasm, and seeing the smug shimmer gleaming in his eyes Aveil steadfastly chose to divert the conversation back to its original topic.

"Still," she began diplomatically, taking a dainty bite of her starfruit and chewing thoughtfully, "I am not certain their meeting is cause for concern yet. Surely if Lim meant to discuss any sort of treacherous or heretical business with Rapha he would have chosen a far less public locale for such a conversation? Any number of ears could be privy to his words in such a place."

"I will leave nothing to chance," the Fourth Prince overrode her testily. "Given the years that the drow spent rotting away in the custody of the Spider Queen I had assumed he would be quick to act the moment his deal with the Most High was struck, for I guessed that his patience would have been spent long before. But now here we are, a full lunar cycle later and not only has he somehow avoided putting his plans into motion, he is gradually gaining the High Prince's trust. He is pretending to have the High Prince's best interest at heart. And now this subtle gesture of goodwill toward my young, volatile brother? You have said yourself they are likeminded. This is but the beginning. Lim is plotting and I will put an end to it before his schemes begin to trouble the Most High."

"Then I will help you," Aveil assured him, "as I have already promised to do, but the time to act against him is not now – nor, I fear, will it be anytime soon. Lim is no fool – before he sets his plans into motion he will at least make great strides toward achieving the ends the High Prince has charged him with accomplishing, for he knows that he exists now at your sovereign's mercy. He will work to appease him, and when the High Prince has dropped his guard Lim Tal'eyve will strike."

Aglarel scoffed as though the notion were ludicrous. "The High Prince would not fall for so obvious an illusion, and he is never caught off his guard."

"Forgive me for saying so," Aveil put in dryly, "but it seems to me if that were the case Lim and his host of phaerimm would never have found the means to infiltrate your great city all those months ago. If your sovereign is as omnipotent as you say, would he not have foreseen such a calamity and prevented it?"

The assassin's eyes flashed as chilling and forbidding as steel and his hands twitched as though he longed to retrieve some unseen weapon. "Are you suggesting that the High Prince is fallible?"

Aveil held her ground and her composure well enough, for she knew better now how to handle the sometimes-capricious Fourth Prince of Shade; she set her teacup aside yet again and leaned forward, balancing her elbows upon the table and clasping her hands together in front of her as she said, "No, I haven't the audacity to make such a claim. I am merely suggesting that the High Prince might have need of your observations, for I have little doubt that Lim is deceiving him in this."

Her words served to be just the reminder he needed; Aglarel vacated his chair and crossed the bedchamber, sweeping the curtains aside with one arm and stepping out onto the wide balcony overlooking The Circle with a pensive expression etched into his face. Aveil tossed the skin of the fruit down upon the porcelain saucer and followed him, her eyes upon his back filled with concern, and they stood together at the guardrail watching vigilantly as foot traffic gradually increased throughout the pavilion. The High Prince's subjects were busy about the new day now; soon they would be seeking an audience to beg for aid in any number of petty affairs, or bustling about the market square in the Lower District, or attending mass at the Church of Shar or any number of the countless other menial tasks the commoners busied themselves with on a daily basis. They had the common sense and courtesy to bow or salute the Fourth Prince as they passed, and those who attended class regularly at the Shadow Mages College offered displays of respect for Aveil as well; Aveil nodded to a few as they passed but her attention was divided, stealing glances at the prince beside her through her peripheral vision, noting well the tension in his shoulders and the way he clutched the guardrail as though he needed an outlet for his anger. At length Aveil felt compelled to apologize, though she wasn't altogether certain just how to begin or what even she should feel sorry for, but the moment she opened her mouth to address him Aglarel overrode her with a simple inquiry.

"Is it not possible that Lim Tal'eyve truly means the High Prince no harm?" he asked softly, his voice laced with uncertainty, and Aveil uttered a tiny sigh.

"All things are possible," the Sceptrana reminded him bracingly. "It may be now that I am not the only one among you who has sworn to atone for the transgressions of the past."

Aglarel angled his body a little to watch her out of the corner of his eye, taken aback by her words. Though she never spoke of it now Aveil had also been something of an enemy to High Prince Telamont until very recently, for she had willingly stood against the Most High's agenda on many occasions and answered to no one but her own questionable moral compass; vanity, treachery, and secrecy had been her closest allies, and she cared little for how her actions affected those around her while she pursued the fulfillment of her own ends. It had taken her death and subsequent resurrection at the hands of Lim Tal'eyve, a great deal of coercion on Aglarel's part, and some rather harsh threats and punishments from the High Prince himself to get through to her, but a combination of all these things had molded her into the shrewd, cool, pliant servant of the Tanthul family that she now was. Aglarel had hardly forgotten those mannerisms of hers, nor the fact that he had once been convinced that she was beyond saving.

"Do you truly believe that his agenda and that of the High Prince are one in the same?" Aglarel clarified skeptically, and Aveil exhaled sharply as though in doubt.

"No one within the walls of Thultanthar knows better than I just how traitorous a creature Lim Tal'eyve can be," Aveil assured sharply, her face screwed up unpleasantly as she remembered. "And while you will never hear me say that your decision to so closely monitor his comings and goings was a foolish one, I will say that perhaps it does not warrant as much of our time as we originally anticipated. It would not do for you to become so consumed with deciphering Lim's every move that you begin to neglect your other duties as well, for then the High Prince would surely notice and your motives would be called into question."

They stood side by side for many long moments, the Fourth Prince gazing with a kind of omnipotent understanding at the Palace Most High standing in its place of reverence at the highest point in the city; Aveil said nothing, content instead to await the words she was certain Aglarel was mulling over even now and chancing a surreptitious glance in his direction out of her peripheral vision every so often. Anything the Sceptrana might have been expecting him to say was forgotten in the instant that he spoke.

"Do you know," he said almost companionably, setting his hands upon the guardrail of the balcony and resting his weight upon his arms, "when I propositioned you to enter into this arrangement with me, I don't think I fully considered all the consequences that might befall us along the way."

Aveil didn't bother asking what proposition he was referring to. When her soul had at last been returned to her a lunar cycle ago Aglarel had all but declared outright war upon Lim Tal'eyve – not only had Aveil readily agreed to aid him in whatever that entailed, she believed wholeheartedly that Aglarel was well justified in his choice to secretly oppose the drow-shade despite the fact that High Prince Telamont had bestowed his favor upon that curious and most recent addition to his esteemed Shadow Council. In her colorful and storied history of run-ins with Lim Tal'eyve – encounters that included tentative alliance, bitter feuds, extortion, blackmail, and sordid romance – she had learned one important lesson: that above all else, Lim was not to be trusted in any situation.

"Why should you think of the consequences?" she responded in a carefully neutral tone. "You are a Prince of Shade. Your word is law in this place."

"My word is taken into consideration," Aglarel corrected testily. "It is the High Prince who determines all our fates – that is what I mean when I talk of consequences. Those things I considered before were trivial in comparison – I thought of what I might do if the drow retaliated with force. I wondered whether he might succeed, and what sort of doom or utopia his victory over the Spider Queen might bring to Thultanthar. I even divined how I might deal with him if he failed in his charge, or worse, if he began manipulating my brothers against one another in an effort to achieve his ends. I did not consider the truth."

Aveil cocked one thin black eyebrow, no longer making any effort to mask her sidelong glances. "Truth?"

"That in opposing Lim Tal'eyve, we are opposing the Most High. That in opposing the Most High, we are little more than fugitives in this realm."

Aveil's first response was a single laugh, harsh and cold and incredulous. "Fugitives? Surely the High Prince would never find reason to take issue with any of your actions. He knows that all that you do, you do for the betterment of the City of Shade."

"It seems that here is a lesson you still have not learned," Aglarel overrode her in a clipped tone, baring his ivory ceremonial fangs in a rare smile that was completely devoid of mirth; his eerie silver eyes, glaring out at her from within his shadow-swathed face, were narrowed into menacing slits. "We have only one duty – to serve the High Prince to the absolute best of our ability. Are you really so foolish to believe he would overlook our transgressions against him and instead find some solace in knowing that all we do, we do out of the _goodness of our hearts_?" It was the prince's turn to laugh now, a high-pitched, maniacal sound that was not at all like the rich darkness of his characteristic tone of voice, and the fine hairs on the back of Aveil's neck prickled at the unfamiliar sound. "Allow me to remind you, since you seem to have forgotten – goodness is a concept that is altogether foreign here. Brennus's pet doppelganger may have been led to believe that we are some sort of pitiable, misunderstood descendants of long-dead kings on a righteous crusade to regain that which is rightfully ours, but I expect you to know better. The truth is that meaner creatures could not be found if you searched the four corners of Toril, or the vast subterranean tunnels of the Underdark – even Lim Tal'eyve's kin, in their fanatical devotion to their capricious and volatile goddess, could scarcely comprehend the level of deceit which governs our daily actions. We are more treacherous than the dark elves, far wiser than the Deep Imaskari, and vastly more vengeful than even the archangels – and it is all because _our patron made us so_. You would do well to abandon these futile hopes that the High Prince will grant us clemency in the event that our true intentions are ever discovered, for your optimism is unfounded. Our fall from his favor will be swift and merciless."

And truly, there was no prospect more terrifying to Aveil in that moment. It was not misleading to say that the bounty of Most High Telamont was generous and unceasing – in the month that she had been serving him her fortunes had changed from that of a barely-tolerated outlaw to a most trusted advisor, all thanks to her continued loyalty and the simple fact that the High Prince desired to elevate her in return for her continued service. After a lifetime of safeguarding her own fate from outside influences it was unnerving to find just how dependent she now was on another – the Most High had the power to tear her down just as easily as he had raised her, and there was little she could do to dissuade him from such a course if he ever had a mind to follow through. Her eyes flitted uncertainly back to Fourth Prince Aglarel, who had turned fully to face her in the short time that she had been brooding and seemed to be studying her face for even a hint of her true feelings. Aveil silently hoped that her unease didn't show through in her expression.

"Do you mean to dissuade me from my course?" Aveil inquired steadily, in a voice that she hoped suggested that perhaps she was bored.

Aglarel cocked his head slightly to one side, his gaze piercing, expectant. "Do my words make you want to abandon this arrangement of ours?"

Aveil shrugged, though it seemed to the Fourth Prince that the action was a little too jerky to seem dismissive. "Not when we have only just begun to oppose Lim Tal'eyve. He has yet to accomplish anything worthy of our concern – he is patient, slow to act and thoughtful. He will plan his conduct with great care, and we must be ready."

"Then you will continue to aid me." Aglarel's tone of voice made it perfectly clear that his words were an observation, not a request.

"I will make good on my word," Aveil vowed, "for had it not been for you sometimes praising me I fear I would be barely better off than before."

"Fortune favors the faithful," the Fourth Prince reminded, and for Aveil in that moment Aglarel's resemblance to the Most High was uncanny.

The great iron bell that hung in the black steeple of the High Church of Shar tolled eight o' clock then, alerting the goddess Shar's faithful followers that the time to attend morning mass was upon them; Aveil's eyes flitted surreptitiously in the direction of the Shadow Mages' College as she suddenly recalled her morning duties. "If you no longer require my assistance, Prince, I will take my leave of you for now. Prince Dethud awaits me at the College."

Aglarel waved one hand negligently before crossing his arms over his chest again. "You are dismissed. I suspect we will talk again when the evening session of council has convened."

The Sceptrana disappeared behind the curtain, returning to the bedchamber's interior to retrieve the staff that was the High Prince's gift to her; she paused in the softly-illuminated room with her eyes fixed upon the gently-swaying curtain, a small crease furrowing her brow as she briefly mulled over her words, before speaking up in a contemplative voice she was certain the Fourth Prince would still easily hear. "Thank you for attending the ceremony, Prince. I know well enough how busy your many ventures keep you and how precious your time is… The knowledge that you chose to spend even a small portion of that time in support of my ascension is an honor, so great an honor that I do not mind so much that no one else bothered to attend."

"Think nothing of it," Aglarel bade her at length, perhaps a little too gruffly, and the profound silence that followed suggested that Aveil had chosen not to linger after offering her gratitude. Rather than dwell on the particulars of the Sceptrana's speedy exit the Fourth Prince swept his gaze up and down The Circle one last time, allowing his eyes to linger a fraction of a second longer upon the private residence of his youngest brother and wondering what the Twelfth Prince could possibly have done to so displease the Most High.


	3. The Broken Mind

At first, he could comprehend nothing but the pain.

He lay there writhing in helplessness and confusion as portions of his body simply melted away, flesh and sinew and bone withering beneath the destroying touch of the angel of decay, and he had little hope of controlling the spasmodic motions of his body for it took every mote of willpower he had just to keep himself from crying out. In his fit of agony he had difficulty just comprehending why – why couldn't he lift his left arm to shield himself from the aberration's next ruthless attack? Why wouldn't his legs support his weight? Why was the vision in his left eye suddenly blurring and steadily worsening, darkening until he could see nothing but an endless black void?

When the realization struck him that barely half of his body remained it sent him into a panic, which only served to worsen his deplorable condition. His chest heaved as he labored for breath and his lung, already punctured by one of his broken ribs, tore open a little further as he sucked in breath after useless breath. His heart, already thrumming out a frantic tattoo in a feeble attempt to prolong the usage of his failing half a body, stuttered and fibrillated for a handful of terrifying seconds that left him breathless with fear. He struggled with the onset of that crushing anxiety, fighting with everything that remained within him just to slow his heart and breathe in a way that wouldn't further aggravate his already fatal wounds. He squeezed his single working eye shut, blotting out the horrors of his surroundings, yearning for darkness and silence and the deceptive bliss of nothingness.

In those moments, he prayed for death.

There was a new disturbance in that dank, long-since-disturbed chamber, and with a great effort he dragged his right eye open; it was a miniscule tear the fabric that separated the Material Plane from the Shadow Realm, once an extradimensional rift that his mortal eyes overlooked easily and now an anomaly that he saw everywhere. It widened to admit a figure cloaked all in protective shadows, who appeared just in time to intercept yet another blow from the angel of decay that he knew instinctively would have utterly annihilated him. The abyssal angel's filthy talons raked down the shadowy figure's torso, shredding his fine robes and bleeding wisps of shadowstuff, but with a growl of undiluted rage the shade simply shook off the blow and stalked forward, murmuring an incantation in a strange tongue that mutated his dominant hand into wicked, serrated claws of pure shadow. With these he proceeded to reduce his adversary to a festering pool of hideous corruption, but so blinded was he in his rage that even when the aberration was clearly no longer a threat he seized the nearest scepter and invoked its flames, leaving little more than a smoldering pile of ash where once the creature had stood.

It was carnage that he could no longer bear to witness for he was certain now that he was dying – wasn't that much obvious? And so he begged the shadowy figure to stop, pleaded with all the breath remaining in his lungs to be held close while his doom swiftly approached, and though he was afraid of what the end might mean his fears seemed much less as he was cradled in the arms of Twelfth Prince Brennus Tanthul. They conversed a little, but to him the words were meaningless – not because he cared nothing for them, but because he was simply incapable of comprehending them anymore. He may have tried to reassure the prince that he wasn't afraid but his words had little effect; Brennus cried bitter black tears, peppering his ruined face with the cool droplets of molten shadow, and though he took issue with the prince's heartbreak he hadn't the strength to protest. Somehow within the endless sea of pain he suddenly perceived his exhaustion, and understood without asking it was time for him to surrender.

He closed his single working eye yet again with a tiny sigh of relief, and embraced death like an old friend.

Above him there issued a growl of fierce denial followed by an odd moment of displacement as he was forcibly dislodged from Brennus's lap; he cracked his eye open most unwillingly as a fresh wave of pain wracked what remained of his body, wondering if his face appeared as disgruntled as he felt, and the world ground to a sudden halt as he watched Brennus plunge his own incorporeal hand deep within his chest.

What was he doing? Was he trying to keep him rooted to the mortal coil with such awful tactics? Did he mean to end his own life so that he would never have to know the agony of meandering aimlessly through life alone?

Then the prince withdrew his hand, and he dimly perceived the true intent behind his macabre actions when he glimpsed the miniscule wisp of concentrated shadow pinched between Brennus's thumb and forefinger. He may even have whimpered or tried to wriggle away, but his efforts were so feeble that Brennus seemed not to take notice as he lurched forward and eased his oddly translucent hand into his chest. And he knew what was coming but couldn't even find the strength within him to protest, didn't even have the presence of mind to consider the repercussions that would likely follow this act.

He knew that the pure essence of shadow Brennus held in his hand had been joined with his wildly-fibrillating heart the moment the pain ripped through him anew, like someone stoking a gently-smoldering fire into an uncontrollable blaze.

The heat was so intense that it desensitized him to anything else physical; he watched Brennus draw his hand from his torso but felt nothing, watched as the prince leaned forward and laid one compassionate hand upon his cheek but could hardly feel its warmth, heard the animalistic sound of his own screams but didn't feel the awful din tearing from his throat. His heart was on fire, racing so swiftly that he was certain it would burst through his already-broken ribcage and tear a gaping, ragged hole in his flesh, and when he was certain the pain couldn't intensify any more the supernova within his chest ignited smaller flash fires all throughout his body. He swore that was magma in his veins, for how could it be blood? The thing giving him life was now determined to destroy him and he found himself begging soundlessly to be released from life, because if this was life he would gladly tear his own soul from his body simply to pass beyond the Veil and find some semblance of peace –

The fires reached the far corners of his body and without warning the agony doubled as the mote of shadow sustaining him regenerated his ruined arm and leg; his screams intensified until he could taste blood in his throat, and when he was certain he would choke on it that wound healed itself too. The blind spot in his vision abruptly vanished as sight returned to his left eye and mercifully the pain subsided a fraction, reduced to a slow burn as the healing process miraculously came to a close.

There followed the uncomfortable realization that he hadn't felt his own heart beat in many moments, and the instant he chose to focus upon the odd stillness within his chest he felt that most essential organ shrivel and die as it was crushed and molded by the shadow. He opened his mouth to cry out in fear and concern but the words died upon his tongue as a thin wisp of black vapor burst into existence in the air a few inches above the place where his heart had become dormant; as he watched the vapor became a thin black veil, slowly encompassing his body with its protective presence like a living thing, and with a fresh wave of horror he watched as his skin darkened from its characteristic slate gray to the color of ebony.

The blaze roared, intangible flames leaping ever higher, consuming every inch of his skin. As he writhed helplessly within the damnable clutches of the fire he knew that millimeter by millimeter the pure essence of shadow was killing him, dragging him deeper into oblivion while somehow simultaneously lifting him to a place that transcended mere mortality. Still he begged for death in every language he knew, for what was the point in living if all he knew was this excruciating agony?

Just as he felt himself teetering on the brink of insanity, the pain abruptly ceased.

It was nothing altogether spectacular, really; he felt healthy, intact, and alive, despite the very real physical evidence that suggested otherwise. When he breathed his chest no longer ached, for his punctured lung had knitted itself back together nicely and he took great pleasure in inhaling deeply for the first time in several hours. He had been so in tune with his body before that if he concentrated just enough he could feel warm blood cycling through his circulatory system, but this was no longer the case – now his innards felt oddly empty, as though the organs that now sustained him were somehow less tangible than before. Unthinkingly he laid a hand upon his own breast, waiting to feel the familiar rhythm of his heart pounding, and was most unnerved by the absence of its comforting flutter. That, at least, would take a great deal of adjusting to.

Opening his eyes he abruptly sat up straight, and couldn't help the barely audible gasp of surprise and wonder that escaped his lips as he took a look around. It wasn't that his surroundings had changed but that his perspective had – his new vision was sharper and far clearer than it had ever been, even despite the fact that he now glimpsed everything through a thin veneer of ever-present shadow; colors were ultra-defined and he couldn't help his wandering gaze as it strayed to the nearest weapon rack in the armory, lingering upon the detailed filigree laid into a masterfully crafted hauberk and at a loss to put a name to the colors he saw there. He could see individual particles of dust floating upon the air, miniscule motes of sepia that he might otherwise have mistaken for individual grains of sand, and the first time a thin shaft of light glanced off a nearby weapon he was certain he would be able to make out the individual colors of the spectrum if he focused hard enough.

Unthinkingly he lifted his right hand up before his eyes, inspecting the unusual new sheen of his skin with a curious mix of awe and skepticism. His flesh was black as midnight beneath the ever-shifting curtain of shadow that now wreathed his body, and when he closed his fingers into a fist he couldn't help but marvel at the sinuousness of the movement. Of course he would never have known to lament the frailty of his body prior to his transformation – how could he, when it was all he had ever known? The strength of body and mind that he thought he had mastered before could never compare to this – the feeling that the orb of pure, undiluted shadow that now sustained him had not only delivered him from the brink of certain death but perfected every physical aspect of his existence. Though he had never been particularly self-involved he couldn't help but wonder just what his new body was capable of. His mind had been so keen before… Could it be that it was even sharper now? Could he kill with a single thought? Should he be terrified that a part of him hoped he could?

"Phendrana?"

He snapped his eyes upon the only other figure in the mostly dark chamber with him, and he easily perceived that he was not a threat if only because he was also a creature of the shadow. He observed him appraisingly and wondrously with wide eyes of molten bronze that were somehow intimately familiar; the shadows that enveloped him were oddly thin, as though he had been very adversely affected by something that had transpired recently, and the robes he wore seemed to be dark in patches. With a start he realized that it was blood staining the other shade's clothing, and couldn't help but wonder – was it the blood of an adversary he had just vanquished? Was it his own?

The other shade stretched a tentative, slightly-shaking hand slowly in his direction, somehow yearning for physical contact but uncertain; he blinked at the trembling digits as though curious as how to respond, but then the single spoken word struck a chord of profound recognition somewhere deep within him and suddenly he found himself prey to a great deluge of memories as abruptly he came back into himself.

He remembered it all – Castle Tethyr, with its crumbling foundation and eerie, too-quiet corridors. The sound of rain upon the cobblestoned floors, the moss and lichen creeping over every inch of the long-abandoned halls, the moonlight streaming through the caved-in ceilings and bathing everything in an ethereal glow. The sound of sucking footsteps, the stench of decay, the earthen subterranean tunnels with their musty scent and almost claustrophobic closeness. The struggle to draw breath, the sudden loss of half of his vision, the crushing helplessness as he watched his ailing body waste away and knowing he was powerless to stop it. The terrifying vengeance of his shadow-swathed savior and his heartfelt, grief-stricken declarations.

Death and darkness, resurrection and rebirth, light and shadow.

Phendrana. Yes. That was his name. He had been that creature once. Was he still?

"Brennus." Gods, his own voice almost startled him, and with a jolt he realized he had resigned himself to never speaking again. He had glimpsed beyond the Veil, seen with his own eyes the mystery and wonder that lay beyond the Land of the Living. That he should find himself back here again, alive and well after wetting his lips with a single cool and refreshing taste of the sweet afterlife that had been prepared for him, was unprecedented. Had his regret been enough to wrench him back from oblivion? Was it his overwhelming affection for Brennus that had led him back here?

Still Brennus knelt there, his hand still half-reached in Phendrana's direction as though he wasn't certain whether the doppelganger would tolerate any form of physical contact; something in his expression made Phendrana feel distinctly uneasy, an undercurrent of doubt that seemed out of place. And he wondered – what could be the cause of such blatant uncertainty? Was he even now wondering at his snap decision to transform Phendrana into a shade? Was he considering the repercussions of such a monumental decision? For even Phendrana knew that there would be consequences for this – some things, he knew, were unavoidable. Rituals so obviously sacred were never meant to be so dishonored.

"Are you…" Brennus hesitated, searching, sifting through his tumultuous thoughts as he swallowed hard past the sudden lump that had risen in his throat. "…Quite… alright?"

Phendrana blinked, surprised. Oh. He had misread the situation entirely. Brennus was only concerned for his well-being. Perhaps the repercussions of his actions hadn't even crossed his mind yet. It struck him then just how close to losing his beloved prince he had come, and with a sudden surging of emotion he lurched forward and crushed the loremaster to his chest with no small amount of force. For his part Brennus did not protest but shifted so that he could return the embrace, and they sat entwined and unspeaking for many long minutes as Phendrana struggled to re-familiarize himself with those aspects of the Twelfth Prince he most enjoyed but which seemed frighteningly hazy to him.

It didn't make sense. Already he could feel that his mind was preternaturally keen, even sharper than it had been prior to his transformation. Why then did it seem as though a heavy fog was blanketing all of his memories? Why did those thoughts and images he held most dear slip through his hands the tighter he clung to them, like water seeping through the cracks between his fingers?

Brennus was fidgeting against him, and it took Phendrana a moment to realize that the prince was struggling to put distance between them; the doppelganger hastened to oblige him, hastily dropping his hands into his lap, certain that the sudden physical contact had offended the prince, but those fears were dispelled in the next instant as Brennus cupped the doppelganger's face in his hands, smoothing his fingertips across his cheeks with concern apparent in his eyes. "You're trembling, Phendrana. Are you certain you're alright? Did I hurt you?"

Phendrana shook his head vigorously, eager to assuage the prince's fears. "No… Quite the opposite, actually. I feel stronger than I ever have, and the pain has subsided."

He reached his hands up and encircled the loremaster's wrists with his abnormally long fingers, tugging those hands away from his face so that he could press a series of soft kisses against the knuckles; for his part Brennus remained motionless, his eyes searching the doppelganger's face, trying to determine what was behind Phendrana's unease. "Then… what ails you?"

Abruptly Phendrana withdrew, his fingers retreating to his temples, gently prodding. "I can't remember…"

"Can't remember…?" Brennus baited, waiting for the doppelganger to finish his sentence with bated breath, and as Phendrana's fingertips kneaded his own forehead his eyes narrowed within the perpetual blackness that was his new and permanent visage.

"Details," Phendrana at last admitted slowly. "Everything is… so faint. The more I focus on what memories I can recall, the quicker they flee from me. Even the most poignant memories I have are swiftly losing their vibrancy." His gaze darted to Brennus's face, hoping against hope that he would find the prince looking back at him with a reassuring smile, but Brennus's expression was one of utter puzzlement. Though he was certain he knew what that meant he found he needed the verbal confirmation more than anything. "Is that… common?"

Briefly Brennus considered lying outright and looking into the matter upon their return to Thultanthar, but found that he hadn't the heart to be anything less than perfectly truthful with his lover. With a quiet, pensive sadness rimming his eyes he shook his head gently once and said, "Not to my knowledge. I was quite young when the Most High bestowed the gift of the shadow upon me, and many centuries have elapsed since that moment, but I do not find any of my memories so dulled."

Phendrana was certain that had he still been possessed of a beating heart it would have skipped a beat at Brennus's unexpected words; as it was he simply sat there, terrified into silence, staring back at the Twelfth Prince beseechingly. With his eyes he pleaded for reassurance, but it was clear in Brennus's tortured expression that no answers would be forthcoming. At length the prince whispered, "What do you remember? Clearly you know who you are, and who I am, and it seems that you have at least a basic understanding of where you are and what has occurred here recently." In response to Phendrana's vacant expression Brennus added slowly, "…You do know who you are, and who I am… Don't you?"

"I'm Phendrana," the doppelganger responded, "and you are Brennus, the youngest son of High Prince Telamont of Thultanthar."

Brennus was not much comforted by the conviction with which Phendrana answered, and so launched into another string of inquiries. "Do you know where you are now?"

"The Netherese armory, in the bowels of Castle Tethyr."

"And why did I make you a shade?"

"I assume you did so because I was on the brink of death, and you thought it was the only option available to you at the time."

"Why were you dying?"

Phendrana grimaced with discomfort, appalled by the memory. "I was attacked by some foul creature."

"What creature?" Brennus pressed unrelentingly.

The doppelganger was shaking his head now. "I do not know. But my lack of knowledge on the subject is not due to my transformation. I have never encountered such a beast – it was unknown to me."

The loremaster dared to hope that perhaps Phendrana was experiencing a mild form of post traumatic stress – a completely acceptable reaction to all that his body had just been exposed to, in his opinion. The strain of Phendrana's body dissolving into cesspools of decay, shutting down his vital organs one by one with agonizing slowness, followed by the complete reconstruction of his mortal body and culminating in the destruction of his soul and the sudden forcible transition in his body composition from flesh into shadow would have been nothing short of devastating. If the worst side effect that resulted of such a traumatic chain of events was a certain measure of haziness to Phendrana's memories, the doppelganger was far better off. He was alive – was that not more important? "It was an angel of decay," Brennus explained mildly, allowing himself to relax for the first time in many minutes. "Having lived most of your life on the surface, I cannot say I am surprised that you have never encountered one before… I would have thought Zerena, or perhaps Alax, would be able to tell you the nature of the creature you faced, however."

"I hadn't time to ask them," Phendrana recalled, sifting gingerly through what memories remained to him and disturbed to find that all he recalled of his near-death experience stood out far more poignantly than he would have preferred. "I remember hearing their warnings but I scarcely recall their words. Everything happened so quickly… All was chaos."

All the while the doppelganger's radiant eyes, as silver as moonlight reflected in a still pool, grew wider and wider as panic and disorientation set in; wisely Brennus bit back the rest of his inquiries, knowing that Phendrana would likely continue to grow even more distressed until his memories returned. With a gentle shushing noise he pulled the doppelganger close, pressing Phendrana's head against his chest with one hand and stroking his back with the other until gradually the tension began to ease out of his shoulders and the involuntary trembling in his extremities subsided. And as they sat there, unmoving and silent, Brennus couldn't help but fear the worst – what if the memories of Phendrana's life prior to his transformation never returned? Or worse still, what if his memories weren't the only facet of his brilliant mind to be so adversely affected by such a drastic change to his body's composition? Was there still more damage unseen that Brennus had yet to discover?

"Do not fret," he said at last, as much for the doppelganger's benefit as his own. "Remember, your body is only just recovering from an amount of trauma the likes of which it would not have been able to withstand under normal circumstances. It may take time, but I can think of no reason why your memories wouldn't return. Perhaps your body isn't all that needs time to recuperate – perhaps your mind needs time also."

Phendrana was nodding into Brennus's chest, but when he drew back traces of uncertainty lingered still within his brilliant eyes. For his part Brennus could only offer a tentative but bolstering smile, hoping against all hope that his own fears didn't show through upon his face.

* * *

Though Brennus attempted to keep a watchful eye upon Phendrana as often as he was able, the moment they shadow-walked out of the armory and back into the foyer where his retainers had set up camp there simply wasn't time. In an attempt to deflect negative attention away from Phendrana the prince announced the discovery of the Netherese armory deep beneath Castle Tethyr's foundations, and from there the day became a whirlwind of activity as Brennus's excavation team hurried to preserve the priceless artifacts entombed underground. Phendrana couldn't help but marvel at the diligence and efficiency of the team that Brennus had assembled, senior arcanists and archaeologists all – a detailed description was drawn up for each weapon noting the materials of construction as well as the enchantments bound within each relic, potions and salves were all meticulously tested to determine the most likely effects each would have if ingested or applied, rods and staves and rings and amulets were catalogued by school of magic and then cross-referenced by potency of spell. This process was remarkably involved, and very few items from the armory were so much as handled physically in the first several hours.

Though the armory chamber and all of its contents had been remarkably well preserved thanks to the ancient magic of the Netherese archwizards, each item was handled with extreme care when cataloguing had at last come to a close. Brennus acted as overseer within the subterranean chamber, giving specific instructions as to the care of each individual relic, and this portion of the process took the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening. At mealtimes the prince sent his retainers away in shifts but hardly slowed in his work, refusing to so much as step foot outside the armory until every last item had been safely moved from the underground tunnels and into a well-protected corner of the foyer that he had had sectioned off specifically for this purpose. Guards were stationed around the temporary structure and protective enchantments were cast to provide additional fortification, and only when Brennus was certain he had done everything in his power to preserve the contents of the armory did he collapse, exhausted, upon the bed within the oversized tent that he and Phendrana shared. By that time it was well after dark, and the majority of the camp was silent around them as the prince's retainers slept.

Though he longed for privacy and solitude Phendrana set about getting the prince a much-needed meal, for he hadn't eaten since the night before and the doppelganger was bound both by honor and affection to serve him. When the scent of roast mutton wafted through the flap of the tent the prince moved into the foyer, to find that Phendrana had stoked one of the fires into a contained blaze in order to warm some of the food that had been prepared earlier in the day; on a tray near the doppelganger's knee was stacked a variety of fruits and cheeses, and while Phendrana saw to the meat Brennus gratefully accepted a wedge of gorgonzola and a half-goblet of Netherese heartwine.

"Tell me," Phendrana began mildly, his eyes upon the mutton as he slowly rotated the spit, his voice inquisitive. "Was it an impressive find?"

Brennus hummed, obviously quite pleased, picking a bunch of red grapes and devouring them as he answered. "Over the course of four and a half centuries I have located a few dozen similar treasure troves, and I've taken great pains to return the contents of each to the Most High. While each of those contained many wondrous and valuable artifacts, I confess I have never seen an armory of this size in all my time searching for the last remnants of the Netherese culture."

"Were you not expecting to find such riches?" Phendrana pried.

"In my translation of the Nether Scroll that your friends recovered from Manifest there was no mention of the scope of the armory," Brennus confessed, attempting to take a dainty sip of his wine but failing in his hurry to assuage his suddenly voracious appetite. "It might have been one warrior's sword or the private stores of one alchemist. Instead we stumbled upon perhaps one of the largest Netherese armories ever to exist. The High Prince will be overwhelmed when he sees what we have accomplished here – even after all this time his desire to retain Thultanthar's connection to its Netherese ancestors remains strong."

The mutton was warm enough to be served; Phendrana removed the skewer from the spit and deposited the slab of meat upon the prince's plate before taking up his poker again and gently stirring the flames. There was a kind of contemplative silence as Brennus ate and Phendrana stared blankly into the heart of the flickering fire, and when the prince took up his goblet once more the doppelganger at last found his voice. "What is to become of us?"

Brennus's throat bobbed thickly as he swallowed, suggesting that he had been hoping to avoid returning to any topic of conversation pertaining to Phendrana's transformation; Phendrana's eyes, keener than ever, did not miss the prince's moment of discomfort. Brennus recovered himself nicely, though, and when he replaced the goblet and took up his plate again he had the decency to assume a mildly quizzical expression. "Tomorrow we will break camp, of course, and return with all speed and care to the City of Shade. Once we arrive the High Prince will go over my report of our findings, and he will distribute the contents of the armory accordingly – potions will be given to the alchemical department at the Shadow Mages College, books will be assimilated into the Grand Library, and the less valuable weapons and armor will be gifted to the Hall of the Arts Martial for use in training exercises. The particularly rare, exceptionally crafted relics will be retained within the High Prince's personal armory to serve as display pieces – or in certain cases, gifts to the Most High's favored retainers as thanks for their exemplary service. Upon your formal induction into the Shadow Council, when the High Prince grants you the titles of Mind of the Most High and Hero of Thultanthar, you will be receiving one for yourself."

Phendrana felt nothing but fondness toward Brennus in that moment, for he knew that the Twelfth Prince was taking great pains to keep him focused on the many honors soon to be bestowed upon him, but it wasn't what he wanted to talk about and he suspected the prince knew that well enough. He opted for a more direct approach to erase any confusion. "That isn't what I mean. How will the High Prince receive me, now that I am a shade? More importantly how will he receive _you_ , knowing that you are responsible for my condition?"

It seemed that the loremaster was weighing the diplomacy of his reply very carefully, Phendrana thought; Brennus was quiet for quite some time, shredding the mutton with his fingertips and taking slow, deliberate bites, sipping thoughtfully at his wine, popping another grape into his mouth almost playfully as though he hadn't a care. Phendrana wondered how much of the prince's carefree behavior was an act, and how much was simply an over-exaggerated show meant to keep him calm – regardless it had the opposite effect, and the doppelganger felt a knot of real fear tightening in his chest. At last the Twelfth Prince deigned to look him in the eye, his bronze pupils hard with unspeakable emotion, but when he spoke his voice was measured and genial enough. "I expect he will receive us with open arms, for what reason has he to be displeased? Our search for the armory has been entirely successful, and as for your unexpected condition… Well, it is my hope that he will pardon me for my snap decisions when he learns how near to death you truly were. Surely he will condone my behavior, for surely he would prefer you to be saved regardless of the method."

The flames danced in Phendrana's eyes as he gazed down upon the little campfire, mulling over the prince's words, searching for the truth in them. He had to admit that he appreciated Brennus's optimism, but he wasn't certain just how realistic the prince's expectations were; he recalled a time mere weeks ago when the notion of casting Hadrhune, the High Prince's favored shadow sorcerer, out of the enclave for having carnal knowledge of an outsider had been the topic of much debate amongst the other members of the Shadow Council – an issue that Phendrana had secretly considered to be quite paltry, truth be told. If such a trivial issue had aroused so much enmity, who was to say that they wouldn't invoke the High Prince's wrath the moment they set foot within his audience hall? To Phendrana's mind this issue was far more important, though he would be the first to admit that he had no way of knowing the High Prince's mind on any circumstance, but if there was credence to his fears what then would Brennus face? He was the instigator, the one who had set this chain of events into motion – though Phendrana wished he could shoulder more of the blame he simply couldn't justify it, for he had been so near to death that the ability to protest had been lost to him. How severe, then, would the potential repercussions be? Was Brennus facing dishonor? The nullification of certain accolades? Banishment? Or something far, far worse?

His concern must have started to show through in his expression, for suddenly Brennus was replacing his plate and seizing the doppelganger's chin in his hand. The prince's fingers were not gentle; quite the contrary there seemed to be an unnecessary amount of force in his grip, and when their eyes met his were hard, dark and forbidding. Phendrana couldn't remember ever being so startled by him before, for from the moment they had become acquainted Brennus had always treated him with a level of courtesy and respect that the doppelganger wasn't sure he deserved.

"I forbid you to fret over this matter," Brennus growled, his voice inhospitable, and Phendrana started at the almost unrecognizable tone, "just as I forbid you to fret over what is to become of me. You have done nothing wrong, Phendrana – you were willing to give your life to complete the High Prince's mandate, however foolishly, and there can be no punishment for such fealty. If there are to be repercussions they are to fall upon me and me alone, and I will accept them gladly. My actions saved your life. I cannot bring myself to regret what I have done, for knowing that I am responsible for preserving your life will bring me solace from whatever awaits me from this point forward."

Phendrana opened his mouth to point out the obvious contradiction in the Twelfth Prince's words but he never got the chance, for in the next moment Brennus had pulled him none-too-gently forward and silenced his protests with a sudden and passionate kiss. Far from placating the doppelganger's concerns, though, the embrace only served to further unnerve him – there was an urgency, a kind of fierce desperation in the way Brennus's lips moved upon his own, and Phendrana was certain he knew why.

Brennus was terrified.

* * *

Phendrana was unable to coax Brennus to sleep until the hour was very late, and though he wished with all his might for sleep to come swiftly his mind stubbornly kept him awake. He had been hoping all day that his memories would return gradually, that the haziness plaguing his mind was a result of the trauma he had endured and it would lift if he gave it time, and he was beginning to think that this at least was true; he was able to recall the particulars of his relationship with Brennus now, including the precise moment they had met and all that they had shared in their time together. Additionally he remembered his old friends Aidan, Aust, and Ivy, and his old flame Rosalles, and took a measure of comfort in knowing that despite the fact that they were no longer a part of his life he hadn't lost his memories of them completely. Certain chains of events seemed to lack detail and clarity, but on the whole he felt that his memory was much improved.

That was no longer his great concern.

He had thought something seemed out of the ordinary all day long as he was assisting Brennus with the great task of preparing each piece from the armory for the journey back to Thultanthar, but as he had been doubly concerned with the vague nature of his memories as well as performing the duties then expected of him he hadn't been able to put a finger on it. Now that he was as alone as he could be, with nothing but the sounds of the faint crackle of the dying fire just outside their tent and the distant din of rolling thunder beyond the castle walls to fill his ears, he was becoming increasingly more aware of just how quiet his own mind seemed to be.

It took barely an effort on his part to completely remove himself from his immediate surroundings, to blot out the soft sounds of the encroaching night and wrench his own thoughts inward. What he saw within the cavernous space that was his conscious mind almost frightened him, for it was not the chamber with the misty floor and the limitless ceiling but a far darker expanse blanketed in ever-shifting shadows; for a few horrible seconds he wondered if he was glimpsing the true nature of the devastation that was the result of his only partially-successful transformation, but it occurred to him that just as his body had changed so too had his mind. He strolled slowly through the unfamiliar space, letting himself grow accustomed to the inherently darker mindset that would now meet him whenever he felt the need to flee within himself, and found that he enjoyed the comforting presence of those shadows almost as much as he enjoyed the sensation that perhaps his mind was now capable of far more than it ever had been before.

Abruptly he remembered just why he had come, for in his aimless wandering he had reached the sightless boundary that separated his mind's active thoughts from his subconscious, the place where typically his six deceased friends dwelled when they desired not to be privy to his thoughts. Facing that unseen void he called out tentatively, his own voice strangely muffled by the swirling veil of darkness.

The profound silence that followed his cry, the only reply he would receive, brought to mind the cold, soulless vacancy of a long-undisturbed mausoleum. And in that awful moment he knew: they truly were lost to him now, those six precious souls that he had come to know intimately in the hour of their deaths. The delusions he had created over the years, the self-made specters of the heroes he had barely known but couldn't bear to part with, no longer existed in this place; he prodded desperately deeper into his own psyche, praying that he would manage to locate their familiar presences ingrained somewhere within his very being, but there remained not a single trace of any of them.

He wept in his crushing despair as slowly he came to understand. The essence of shadow imparted a great many wondrous gifts upon those who received it – among the most precious of these was regeneration, an accelerated rate of healing that made the shades nigh impossible to destroy using conventional methods. Phendrana surmised that this regeneration had become active the moment Brennus had introduced a fragment of shadow essence into his heart and created the shadow orb that would henceforth sustain him; if that was true, those coveted regenerative properties were likely to blame for the almost maddening quiet resounding within his mind. It was the will of the shadow that its host remained in the very peak of physical health – it would be unable to distinguish between a fatal wound and an anomaly of the brain, and likely view both as imperfections to be fixed. It had viewed the precious gift of his friends' voices as a flaw, and in mending that defect it had utterly destroyed them.

The silence of his own mind was suddenly more than he could bear, and with exaggerated force he wrenched himself out of his thoughts and back into the present. His heart should have been pounding, but he no longer possessed such a thing and his chest felt eerily still. He should have been bathed in sweat, but his skin was smooth and cool. Beyond the keep's heavily-weathered walls, the thunder rolled ever louder.

Would they continue to wait for him, he wondered? They had vowed upon the conclusion of their last meeting that they would dwell within Manifest until such time as his life ended, and when that day came they would all pass beyond the Veil and into the next life together. It was that thought he clung to now, but even that solace did not last as he recalled something that Brennus had told him long before he had ever set foot within Thultanthar.

" _Immortality is as much a gift as it is a curse, Phendrana... Loved ones will pass on, the shape of the land will change, and eventually that person's entire life will be something completely different than it was on the day he first began to walk the earth. Loneliness, isolation, and sorrow can kill a man as surely as any weapon, but those who are made to live forever can never escape their sadness."_

" _Are the Princes of Shade immortal?"_ Phendrana had asked, morbidly curious by all that Brennus had told him, somehow darkly eager to learn more.

The Twelfth Prince's answer had been vague, purposefully open-ended, and it had chilled the doppelganger to the bone. _"So far."_

Now that the question of his death was not decades but perhaps millennia away from ever being answered, would his friends continue to wait for him to arrive in Manifest for the last time? Could he really expect them to wait… potentially forever?

* * *

Morning came much too soon for Phendrana, who found little real rest as he dreaded the approaching dawn. Breakfast was a hurried affair, for all those in attendance knew well the importance of their mandate and were focused wholly on the safe transportation of all those artifacts that had been recovered from the catacombs beneath the foundations of Castle Tethyr; Phendrana found himself desperate to make use of himself, anything to distract from the deepening sense of dread that pooled in his stomach, but Brennus insisted that breaking the camp was work for the common folk and not fit for the Mind of the Most High. Phendrana didn't have the heart to inform the prince that perhaps he was being a little presumptuous – after all that had happened in the past forty eight hours he was no longer certain that he would be entertaining the High Prince's favor upon his return to the enclave, much less be fit to bear such a lofty title.

Dread has an uncanny way of speeding the flow of time; the doppelganger had only to blink and it seemed that their darksteeds were saddled and awaiting riders, and as he wanted nothing more than to keep from causing Brennus undue alarm he mounted his steed without protest. The Twelfth Prince's attendant and fellow arcanist Altaria, a stern-faced Shadovar female with a bald pate and severe eyes, was barking orders to the lesser members of the excavating party as she joined them at the head of the company, and with a single shout from Brennus they took to the sky.

There was no sun on this day – not like the day they had departed Thultanthar on the High Prince's business, when their journey had been accompanied by brilliant sunlight and crystal-blue skies as far as the eye could see; instead iron-gray clouds loomed heavily above them, swollen with rain and rumbling with thunder even as the crumbling ruin of Castle Tethyr fell away below them. As lightning split the sky and the first of the raindrops began to fall, Phendrana hunched his shoulders and quietly prayed to any god that would listen that the weather wasn't an omen for what they might expect upon their return.

It wasn't until their entourage was soaring over the forests of Wealdath that Phendrana dared to glance Brennus's way, unsurprised when the Twelfth Prince didn't return his gaze. His face was closed off and unapproachable, for it seemed that he was lost in his own thoughts; the doppelganger knew by the bleak set to the loremaster's mouth and the helplessness that lingered near his eyes that he, too, was anxiously anticipating their return to the City of Shade. He wanted to extend his reassurances, to tell Brennus that his fears were unfounded and all would be well when the High Prince was made to understand the circumstances they had been faced with, but he could not find the courage to say any of his thoughts aloud. For what if he was wrong? What if the High Prince chose not to sympathize with their cause?

At last he stretched out his mental influence, almost shocked at just how simple it was to infiltrate Brennus's mind and impart his thoughts upon him. _I love you_.

The Twelfth Prince whipped his head in Phendrana's direction, his surprise apparent in his expression. It had only just occurred to Phendrana that when Brennus had made a similar declaration, in the moments during which Phendrana had teetered on the edge of life and death, Phendrana hadn't reciprocated those emotions.

 _And I love you._ It was clear in the strange inflections that surrounded these words that Brennus had much more to say, but his thoughts wavered on the final syllable and all that he wanted to say was lost. Phendrana was certain he knew what the prince desired to convey, for he was almost positive that they entertained similar thoughts.

 _I love you. I want to make sure that you know._

 _In case something that we haven't prepared for awaits us._

 _In case this is the last chance I have to tell you._

* * *

They returned to the great floating enclave of Thultanthar, the last city belonging to the otherwise-extinct Netherese Imperium, under cover of night; as the poor weather had persisted throughout much of their journey it had been slow going, and Brennus had fretted almost obsessively over the well being of armory's contents the entire way. Phendrana was one of the last of their entourage to pass through the thick layer of shadows that encircled the city, protecting their secretive society from the harsh rays of the desert sun as well as the prying eyes of outsiders; the sky was clear above the vast desert of Anauroch and the half-moon was shining brightly, casting the endless sea of sand below in mystifying shades of silver and palest lavender. He wheeled his winged mount around once, twice, three times as he filled his eyes with the sight, and vaguely he wondered how many weeks would pass before he glimpsed the outside world again.

He could feel some outside influence reaching out toward him, seeking access to his thoughts, and recognizing Brennus's familiar presence he opened his mind to him gladly. The prince's voice was carefully neutral, presumably as he attempted to keep his true emotions in check. _It would be best if we sought the Most High out at once. He will want receive our full report of all that occurred while we were away, and he will be most interested to inspect the contents of the armory._

Phendrana spurred his darksteed toward the enclave with a gentle nudging of his heels against its flanks, not bothering to answer. Still no acknowledgement of his condition. He wondered wryly if the loremaster was daring to hope that perhaps their sovereign somehow wouldn't notice.

The stables were in the Lower District, just a block away from the Hall of the Arts Martial; they surrendered their mounts to the waiting stable hands and stood facing one another blankly, words lost upon thick tongues, unable now to keep the blatant fear out of their eyes. Though he no longer needed to rely upon another shade to bear him through the Shadow Realm the doppelganger found himself reaching unconsciously for Brennus, who was only too eager to extend his own hand the rest of the distance and twine their fingers together.

"Let us see about our business," the loremaster said stiffly, with a forced cheer in his tone that made Phendrana's insides seem icy, and without so much as bidding their entourage farewell they stepped into the Plane of Shadow.

They didn't speak as they navigated that dark, limitless realm. Brennus's fingers were like steel as he led the way. Neither did they exchange words in the moment before they stepped into the High Prince's audience hall, for which Phendrana was grateful – he didn't think he could bear it if Brennus attempted to offer him words of farewell, for he was barely clinging to his composure as it was.

Brennus dropped his hand in the instant that they moved to return to the Material Plane, and quite before he had mentally prepared himself Phendrana was standing in the perpetual quiet of Most High Telamont's private audience hall.

Though the chamber was quite spacious there was very little décor. The floor beneath their feet was smoky black marble, often obscured by a curious yet ever-present silver mist much like the fog that had once blanketed Phendrana's conscious mind. There was a short staircase that led up to a slightly raised platform, upon which the High Prince's throne sat; it was a magnificent structure, pure onyx stone adorned with dark blue sapphires and amethysts that shone almost black. The walls were veiled in shadow, giving the entire chamber a feeling of limitlessness, and though Phendrana knew the ceilings were vaulted he had never seen them through the silver mist that hung in the air several feet above their heads; across the hall was a circular indentation in the floor, which often appeared as a clear, still pool but in reality was actually one of the greatest tools the doppelganger had ever laid eyes upon. The Princes of Shade called it the world window, a mystical device that many whispered had been a gift to Lord Shadow from the goddess Shar herself; the Most High had only to speak aloud a location, or the name of any individual, and he could observe whatever he wished reflected upon the serene surface of the pool. It was here that they glimpsed the High Prince, standing as still as a statue at the edge of the water's surface, illuminated in an almost ethereal white light as presumably he studied something within the world window's depths.

Against his better judgment Phendrana started toward him unannounced, somehow mystified by the almost godly spectacle of his sovereign wreathed in gentle light; for some reason he could never explain he felt compelled to learn what the High Prince was gazing upon so avidly. Brennus might have hissed a warning but Phendrana paid him no heed, and so the loremaster had no choice but to follow along at his heels. With each step he took the doppelganger expected to be rebuked for his impertinence but Telamont silently abided his approach, until Phendrana had drawn level with his sovereign and stood as quietly as a ghost at his side.

Still the High Prince did not so much as glance his way, his eyes fixed upon the image reflected in the eerily still waters at his feet.

Phendrana dared to glance down, to determine what had his sovereign so enraptured.

He saw a shade reflected in the surface of the pool that he thought was uncannily familiar in some way, but for the life of him he just couldn't guess who it might be at first; the longer he studied it, though, the more he recognized the figure that had so captured the High Prince's attention. He was too thin, almost gaunt really, and tall enough that he appeared almost malnourished; he had arms lined with lithe muscle that suggested he was no stranger to physical combat, but those arms ended in hands that boasted fingers that seemed a little too long somehow. But it was the eyes that demanded Phendrana's attention above all else – silver like moon dust and large as silver pieces, so large and so telling that they appeared as gateways into the shadowy figure's soul.

With a start, Phendrana realized that it was _him_ reflected in the gleaming pool.

"Often I find myself wishing that many of the things I glimpse in the world window will not come to pass," Telamont murmured thoughtfully, his voice filled with melancholy, and his shining platinum eyes disappeared from his shadow-swathed face for a moment as he closed them. "I see that in this instance, no amount of wishing will undo what has already been done."

He turned fully to face them at last, the ancient sadness reflected in his eyes invoking a strong surge of guilt that radiated throughout Phendrana's chest; at the doppelganger's side Twelfth Prince Brennus fell to the floor, his back and shoulders fully exposed as he doubled over to prostrate himself at his sovereign's feet. For his part Telamont utterly ignored his youngest son's gesture of repentance, for in that moment it seemed he had eyes only for Phendrana; those knowing eyes probed the doppelganger's murk-swaddled figure evenly, discipline schooling his dejection at the sight that met him, and though Phendrana knew he should be on his knees and begging for mercy he seemed quite incapable of moving at all. For a moment that may have lasted an hour he stood helpless beneath the High Prince's all-seeing gaze, until at last Telamont uttered a tiny sigh that seemed the dispel the last of his sadness and spoke.

"Well, Phendrana," he began, his voice far more diplomatic now, "I must say, I find you much changed." Before the doppelganger was able to construct a reply Telamont shifted his gaze, addressing his youngest son when he added, "Lift yourself from the floor, Brennus. I will not speak with you while I find you in such a deplorable state."

Brennus hastened to oblige, straightening his robes as he did so, and seemed to have regained a great deal of his composure by the time he stood straight before the High Prince. Telamont's eyes flitted back and forth between them for quite some time, silently assessing the situation, before at last he whispered, "Explain this."

Phendrana took matters into his own hands and launched into the harrowing tale, recounting with explicit detail how his solitary journey through the long-deserted halls of Castle Tethyr had led him to a worn section of the floor that dumped him into the catacombs beneath the keep's foundations, how he had stumbled upon the great armory sealed deep underground, how he had been caught at unawares by the angel of decay and been reduced to a mass of festering corruption at its filthy talons. With no explanations from Brennus forthcoming he chose to continue on, reliving the moment when the prince had come to his rescue and put his assailant down with a show of his vengeful shadow magic, and with dread settling like a leaden weight in the pit of his stomach he confessed the truth of his transformation to the High Prince – that in his moment of greatest need the Twelfth Prince had taken matters into his own hands, harnessing the powers of the shadow to drag Phendrana back from the brink of oblivion and remake him a creature of darkness. Knowing that their salvation or damnation depended largely upon how much he chose to share the doppelganger continued on, disclosing the truth of his faulty memory and even his fears that he had lost the voices of his six dear friends for good. By the time he had finished Phendrana's voice was hollow and monotonous – devoid of all life, just as he felt.

Through it all Telamont listened attentively, offering not a word in either acceptance or rejection, and nodded appraisingly upon the completion of Phendrana's tale. Slowly he raised a hand – at Phendrana's side Brennus visibly tensed – only to drop it almost companionably down upon the doppelganger's shoulder. The quiet melancholy had returned to his eyes.

"You have survived quite the ordeal," Telamont told him gently, "and once again I find myself in awe of your resilience. Given the sorry state of your body when your transformation took place and the unique properties of your mind, I must say that I am amazed that the side effects you are suffering are so mild." The hand upon the doppelganger's shoulder squeezed once reassuringly, and at last Phendrana felt a measure of his anxiety begin to melt away. "I will dismiss you for now so that you might find rest, but in the days to come we will speak more on the subject. Since I had intended you to complete your Determining with Lamorak prior to turning you and that is now impossible, I will inquire after your options at this stage and see what might be done to smooth your transition into this life. It can be overwhelming at first, but Lamorak is more knowledgeable in these matters than anyone and will surely have the answers that we require."

Phendrana found himself nodding along somewhat numbly, scarcely able to believe that they were about to escape the High Prince's audience chamber without so much as a verbal scolding. As he slipped out from beneath Telamont's hand his eyes flitted unwittingly to Brennus, who stood now on the other side of their sovereign surveying him with hard bronze eyes. "Shall we…?"

"I will come along later," Brennus overrode him with an encouraging little smile. "I am sure the Most High would like very much to receive my catalogue of the artifacts recovered from the armory."

"I would," Telamont agreed vaguely, his expression somehow unreadable. "Very much."

The tension in the air was palpable; Phendrana swallowed hard, his eyes still locked upon Brennus, wordlessly pleading the youngest prince to come along with him. For his part Brennus did not react to the doppelganger's plaintive stare in any way, that steely smile frozen in place upon his lips, and when Phendrana dared to glance back to his sovereign it was to find that Telamont's eyes had hardened a fraction.

The unspoken meaning was clear enough. _Leave now. This no longer concerns you_.

Phendrana bowed low, but not low enough to pry his eyes from Brennus; the youngest prince offered him a slight nod, a wordless encouragement that all would be well, but it was with a crushing trepidation that Phendrana at last shadow walked from the hall.

The moment the doppelganger had taken his leave High Prince Telamont turned back to face his youngest son, who had the good sense to drop his gaze immediately to the floor – but not in time to miss the rage burning in the depths of his sovereign's eyes.

"I believe you were groveling at my feet," Telamont reminded in an icy whisper, "preparing to beg for your life."

An invisible weight fell upon Brennus then, driving into his back and shoulders with enough force to lay him out flat on the floor; Brennus gritted his teeth when his forehead rapped unpleasantly against the smooth black marble, but did not allow himself to cry out. He had known all along the fate that awaited him for breaking such a sacred ritual. He was prepared to accept it without complaint, for he was bound to the will of the High Prince above all others and had no authority to negotiate the severity or leniency of his sentence. The weight increased as his sovereign grew dissatisfied with his lack of protest and Telamont's displeasure pressed him ever down against the floor, until with a series of sickening snaps his bones simply began to crack beneath the strain.

"Will you not beg?" Telamont growled, his voice sharp as a whip crack, his eyes devoid of sympathy as one by one his youngest son's bones shattered beneath his forbidding glare. "Will you not ask me to spare you? Or have you already resigned yourself to death?"

"Most High One," Brennus managed to gasp out, but the rest of his plea was lost in the gurgle of blood that welled in his throat. His eyes flitted down to his extremities but darted away just as quickly, nauseated by the unnatural angles his limbs had taken; he labored for breath but his lungs were crushed, his chest was on fire, his shadow orb was pulsing feebly against the jagged shards of his broken ribs –

Abruptly the pressure ceased, and though Brennus longed to escape his agony he knew that he would not be so lucky. The High Prince was the longest lived of their unnatural race, and had long since perfected the delicate art of torturing those who displeased him. So long as a shade's shadow orb remained intact it retained the ability to heal the body in which it resided, and though Brennus could feel his throbbing painfully within his chest he could also feel the moment it began the excruciating process of knitting his broken bones ever-so-slowly back together. The thick black blood blocking his airway absorbed back into his bloodstream, his lungs re-inflated and allowed him to gulp down a desperate lungful of oxygen, the feeling returned to his extremities –

"You were saying?" the Most High snapped, and Brennus perceived that his sovereign was kneeling beside him, one hand resting gently upon the back of his head.

Brennus swallowed, reflexively licking the last of the blood from his lips. "I meant only to save him, I had no other choice – "

" _Choice_?!" shrieked Telamont, and in a sudden fit of rage he tightened his fingertips with exacting pressure; there followed an awful moment in which Brennus was certain he would be suffocated against the floor, and then with a series of muted pops his skull fractured beneath his sovereign's crushing grip. The world around him darkened, and with a sudden surging of terror Brennus perceived that his eyesight had failed him.

Why couldn't he die? He could feel the razor-sharp fragments of his skull piercing into his own brain, paralyzing him, wrecking irreparable damage, and yet still he lived? _Why_?

" _CHOICE_?!" the High Prince howled yet again, the sound of his voice shattering Brennus's eardrums with its awful high pitch. "I will tell you what your choice _should_ have been, you damnable, foolish _wretch_!" He seized Brennus by the nape of his neck and hauled him upright, batting aside the youngest prince's feebly waving limbs, and dragged him up to eye level despite the fact that Brennus's eyes rolled uselessly within his skull in that moment. "You should have let him _die_ , for what am I to do with him _now_?! _HE WAS PERFECT, AND NOW HE IS USELESS TO ME!_ "

"No," Brennus protested weakly, his head lolling uselessly to one side as he slurred out that single syllable. "He can still be of use to you, Most High, I swear it – "

" _DO YOU_?!" Telamont tossed his son away like a rag doll in sudden disgust; the loremaster crashed heavily down upon the lowest steps leading up to the High Prince's throne, his back broken in many places, and upon impact he actually did cry out. The sound reverberated throughout the cavernous hall, filling his own ears with an unearthly echo that made him grit his teeth, blood trickling from his ears. "How do you suppose he might serve me?! Had I desired to bind just _any_ doppelganger to my service I would have sent one of my underlings down to their detestable hovels and dragged one of them here, for on the whole their kind are utterly useless! Phendrana's mind is so unique, and so brilliant, and the strength of his belief in those pathetic dead mortals so _pure_ , that he is somehow able to _manifest them into existence_! Do you understand what a powerful weapon that conviction might have been had I been able to harness it against the enemies of Thultanthar?! Do you not know that with his mind I might have razed entire kingdoms to the ground?!"

"Still…" Brennus's body would not respond; his legs would not move, his eyes would not see, yet still his shadow orb preserved him, knitted his body feebly back together so that the High Prince could break him yet again. "Still… can be…"

Telamont approached solemnly, his eyes upon the broken and pitiable body of his youngest son filled with abject loathing. When he spoke, he did so as if to a child. "Oh? Let me remind you that your pathetic affections have no basis in this debate – your _faith_ will not deliver him, unless Shar hears your miserable pleas and somehow miraculously heals Phendrana in her mercy. Your _love_ will not deliver him, for love is a foolish mortal emotion that has been little more than a tremendous waste of time to us in the past." He ran a hand down his face, tired and haggard now but no less infuriated; Brennus's eyesight had returned by then, and he gazed up at his sovereign blearily. "My poor empire. First my advisor surrenders himself to his passions and utterly forsakes my agenda, and now one of my own sons has abandoned me in pursuit of _love_. I should cast you out. I should rip the shadow orb from your body and let you fall to the World Below, where I doubt you would survive a day without my bounty. Let us see whether your sickening feelings of _love_ save you then."

"Please," Brennus beseeched him yet again, his voice stronger now as his back straightened, and despite a lingering soreness he felt whole; he scrambled to his knees and prostrated himself before the High Prince, no less repentant than before, something akin to desperation in his voice. "Please, Most High One, your poor servant begs you… do not send me away. I did not act maliciously, or in disregard for your wishes – I swear upon all that I have, my intentions were good. Preserving Phendrana was my only aim… Had there been another way to save him, be assured that I would have done it."

He braced himself for more pain, but in the end it did not come; warily he dared to glance up to find that his sovereign was standing over him, his expression carefully neutral as he pondered how best to respond. That moment of contemplation sparked a flicker of hope unbidden deep in Brennus's chest, for he had been certain from the moment of Phendrana's only partially successful transformation that he had no hope of redeeming himself. He endured the silence for many minutes, until at last the High Prince deigned to speak to him again.

"His mind is broken," Telamont insisted. "Explain to me how you think this situation might be redeemed. If your proposal has merit, I will take it into consideration."

"There is no guarantee that his mental state will not improve," Brennus protested as diplomatically as he could manage, but inside he was furious on Phendrana's behalf. After all the doppelganger had sacrificed selflessly in the name of an empire that could scarcely be called his own, was this truly to be his great reward? "Had you witnessed the poor condition his body was in when I introduced the shadow into his heart you would know just how difficult an undertaking it was for him to be healed. The shadow is strong – stronger than any force we have ever encountered, as we all know – but it is also not limitless; it must take to him before we can be certain. No one has ever been changed under such dire circumstances. We could never have known there would be adverse effects to such a transformation."

"You have the audacity to blame the doppelganger's physical condition, and not your lack of knowledge and skill?" the High Prince drawled disdainfully, his words plucking a chord of guilt in Brennus, but the loremaster would not relent.

"With all due respect, My Lord," he answered tersely, "I recall the moment of my own transformation perhaps more keenly than any other memory I have. I have no doubts that I performed it correctly. If it is not the extensive physical damage Phendrana suffered that is the catalyst for these side effects, it is surely his own mind rejecting the shadow essence within him."

"You have ever been wisest among your brothers," Telamont admitted, begrudgingly impressed by his youngest son's assessment, "but your words are bold, and what's more, they are unfounded. These are merely theories you speak. Rootless conjectures."

"Because we have no other frame of reference," Brennus insisted, his voice pleading now. "This situation is one of a kind – certainly no one else among us was ever subjected to this."

"He is subject to it now on account of you," Telamont reminded sternly, "and your judgment."

Brennus's eyes slipped to the marble upon which he knelt, considering his sovereign's words carefully as the weight of dread settled once more in the pit of his stomach. He had been truly foolish to hope that he could convince the High Prince to pardon him for his actions – there were always consequences. Perhaps his sovereign had been lenient with him in the past, but this was far different. He had broken a sacred tradition. He had all but spoiled the Most High's coveted acquisition that was Phendrana. For this, there would be no clemency. Not for him, at least.

"Then punish me for my judgment, if it pleases you," he prompted, resigned, "but I beg you, do not exact your wrath upon Phendrana. He was in no state to either accept or resist the great power I thrust upon him. He cannot be blamed."

Telamont whisked past him, the hem of his cape trailing about his ankles as he ascended the short staircase to his great onyx throne; here he sat, resting his chin upon one upraised hand as he brooded, and Brennus turned to face him but made no move to rise. The silence about the audience hall was profound and somehow deafening; Brennus could feel it pressing in upon his newly-healed eardrums, threatening to rupture them again, but he made no visible show of discomfort and the High Prince did not mention it aloud. It may have been only a handful of minutes or an hour that elapsed between them, but however long the silence was it was ultimately broken when the Most High came forward to the edge of his throne and fixed his youngest son with his most grave expression.

"Here now is my sentence. You will serve it without complaint, or I will dispose of you both." Brennus nodded numbly, fear gripping his shadow orb like a vice, but the High Prince did not wait for his son to compose himself. "The doppelganger will be spared – he is new to our society, and if I am to have any hope of utilizing him in the future I must be lenient in punishing him or risk sparking some insubordination within him. I will not rend your shadow orb, but only because I do not believe _you_ are the problem - you have served me faithfully, always. It is your infatuations that have brought about this catastrophe, and so that is what I shall punish." Telamont drew himself up straight, glaring down his nose at the loremaster, and in that moment Brennus did not see his father sitting upon that lofty throne – he saw the merciless, indomitable Lord Shadow, he who had lifted a nearly-extinct race high above the fragile bonds of mortality, and suddenly he was more afraid than he had ever been. "You will renounce him utterly and devote yourself wholly to my service, as you once did. Phendrana is no longer your concern – his Determining will be conducted by your brother Third Prince Lamorak, and afterward he will require nothing from you. As to your petty infatuations, see that they are forgotten at once. I am no longer inclined to turn a blind eye where your perverse preferences are concerned - should you choose to pursue Phendrana in a private setting, your life will be forfeit. Am I in any way unclear?"

It was many long moments before Brennus was able to formulate a verbal reply. His eyes burned, but in blinking furiously he was able to sublimate his sorrow; in clenching his fists at his sides he was able to turn his rage into grim resolution. When he spoke his voice was monotonous, as though he had lost the will to oppose his sovereign's will, and Telamont thought he witnessed the last of Brennus's mortality as it died in the depths of his bronze eyes. "No, High Prince. Your words are quite clear and your mercy is unceasing. I am grateful to receive your will and will humbly re-devote myself to your service. I will not fail you again."

"That remains to be seen," Telamont pointed out icily, and he did well to disguise his surprise at just how quickly Brennus had thrown his affections away. His youngest son had always been one of the most humane of his progeny, able to identify with mortal creatures on a level that many other Shadovar could never comprehend, and that empathy had served him well over the centuries but now could barely be called anything but a hindrance. Fleetingly he wondered if he would live to regret this decision, but he cast the doubt away almost at once. His word was law in this place. "You are confined to your private chambers until further notice. During this time meals will be brought to you and the head of your housekeeping staff will bring you news, but you will not be permitted to leave or to take up your seat on the Shadow Council. When I have need of your voice, I will call for you – until then, you are to make yourself scarce. You are dismissed. Do not speak of these matters, on your life."

Brennus bowed his head but did not speak as he at last rose from his crouch, and with one final nod of acquiescence for his father's commands he retreated from the audience hall and made straight for his bedchamber within Villa Tareia. Once there he went silently about his business drawing the curtains, changing from his traveling clothes, and at last tackling the many sheaves of parchment that Altaria had left on his desk for him to study before he presented them to the High Prince. He lit a single candle and got straight to work, neither sending for food nor reaching out for the companionship of a single soul.

Somewhere in the quiet hours of the morning just before the dawn there issued a soft, tentative rap upon his own bedchamber door, and though he glanced up and dropped his quill he did not rise from his chair. He remained where he was, absolutely motionless, every single one of his sense ultra-defined as a second knock sounded, then a third, and at last a lamenting voice called his name mournfully from the hallway.

There was a kind of quiet sadness lining his bronze eyes, the only indicator that perhaps the piteous voice in the hallway had not gone unnoticed, but with the High Prince's grave warnings still fresh in his memory he didn't dare move for the door.

He resolutely took up his quill yet again as he tore his eyes from the door, and ignoring the muted sobs he dipped the tip back into the inkwell and carried on about his business.

At daybreak he was still writing, and the sobs had long since quieted.

* * *

For the first week Phendrana could only cry, for it seemed to him that he had truly lost everything. No matter how he begged for an audience his beloved Prince Brennus would not even dignify his pleas with a response, much less look upon him; no matter how he focused his mind, filing his every thought into a razor-sharp point, those six voices he had so depended upon for decades would not return to him. For the first week he was completely and utterly forsaken.

But eventually, his tears dried.

In the second week he approached the prince's door with more composure, no longer begging for an audience but asking diplomatically. Though the change in his attitude did no more earn him the prince's ear than the previous one had he found that he was far less disheartened than he had been before. He expected it now. His prince no longer had need of him. Brennus had glimpsed him in his darkest hour, at his most vulnerable, and was disgusted by his weakness.

When that comprehension at last dawned upon him, Phendrana felt what passed for his heart these days slowly begin to harden. The changes were ever-so-subtle at first – he stopped crying, he stopped seeking answers from voices that clearly couldn't hear him, he even stopped approaching the prince's door on a daily basis. Every so often the urge to knock would grip him with overpowering insistence, and in these occasions he would succumb and seek audience, but no longer with any hope of admittance.

In the third week he allowed himself to stand facing that closed door whenever the urge to speak with Brennus became too great for him to bear, but never within arm's reach – instead he merely stood there, pondering the smooth wooden surface, wondering just what was occurring on the other side. And gradually he came to find that his longing shifted slowly into curiosity, from curiosity to apathy, and at last from apathy to disdain. Why should he devote so much time and emotion to the pursuit of someone who clearly hadn't a single care for his well being? Would he not be better served pursuing the High Prince's agenda? Wasn't that why he had been brought all this way?

After a month he was staring at that door with loathing and hatred in his eyes. He hated the door. He hated the man who was huddled behind the door, content in his superiority to allow the doppelganger to grovel on his knees without so much as acknowledging his presence. He hated the maddening quiet of his mind and his inability to connect with those dear friends he had made all those years ago, and the thought that if ever he reached Manifest he would find no one waiting to greet him. He hated the deadly keen edge he felt lingering within the depths of his mind, a subtle reminder of all that he was capable of in his transformed state. But most of all he hated himself, for he knew that no matter how much he came to despise Twelfth Prince Brennus it would never be nearly enough to entirely quash the all-consuming love he bore the man.

His memories returned in full after many devoted weeks of sifting through the fragments of half-formed thoughts that he had retained, and that was when the dreams started.

He thought little of the first several dreams, for they were vague and he assumed they were simply a direct by-product of his ever-active mind. The first was barely half a minute in length, he hypothesized, though he had it many times that night – just him standing alone in a darkened corridor, staring blankly into the inky black depths that even his keen eyes could not quite distinguish. Details came to him with each recurrence of the dream – for some reason the most prominent of these was the chill in the air, so jarring that he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around himself for warmth, and the single wall sconce burning deep violet flames directly to his left, elongating his shadow in a most unnatural way. He felt there was something there in the blackness, some person watching his every move with an eerie focus that made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand on end or some terrible deed playing out in the shadows that his eyes couldn't penetrate, but in the dream his feet wouldn't carry him forward into the darkness and he was always left wondering.

A few days later his mysterious night vision began to progress – slowly at first, but noticeably. He would take a few more steps down the corridor, always further enshrouding himself in the encroaching darkness, his eyes probing for threats he knew were present yet he could not see. Four days in and he was at the end of the hallway gazing upon an ornate door that he was certain he had never glimpsed in his waking hours, with the bodies of four dead guardsmen at his feet. The first time the bodies appeared before him he jolted himself awake, sweating and shaking and distinctly unnerved, yet despite how disturbed he was by all that he had seen he found himself longing to return to sleep so that he could learn all that he might from these strange dreams.

For he knew instinctively that all he had seen was a reality – perhaps not yet and perhaps not soon, but it would come to pass at some point. Of that, he was certain.

Five weeks after his return from Castle Tethyr he found himself actively pursuing sleep, often shutting himself away in his private chambers in Villa Tareia for hours at a time as he lay there with his eyes closed, silently praying for the visions to return. Something was waiting for him on the other side of that door. He had to believe that.

He had nothing else to believe in.


	4. The Emissaries of Lolth

The Bazaar was a bustling menagerie of sight, sound, and smell as Zek Vandree passed through, cutting a swath north through the many stalls and shops boasting their wares with his eyes upon the not-so-distant Tier Breche. A wizened old kuo-toa was haggling with a male drow slave over the price of some alchemical ingredients on his right, and as he passed them he couldn't help but snicker beneath his breath – he was no stranger to potions and salves, and he knew enough to know that the slave would be getting a poor deal indeed for the price and quantity being settled upon. On his left was a rickety stall that had been set up on the back of a cart on wheels, displaying all manner of fabrics from the drow city of Ched Nasad – cloth-of-gold and hand-spun silk, sheer ivory satin and chiffon in pastel hues and tulle in handsome jewel tones. The cart's attendant was a malnourished half-drow with a rat face and beady eyes to match, who hailed him most sweetly as he passed; on another day he may have spared the wretch a coin from his own coinpurse, but today he was on business for the ruling house of Menzoberranzan and had long since resolved to make time for no one.

Though he carried himself most proudly, inwardly he was still reeling at the summons he had received. His older brother, a self-involved brute of a weapons master called Sramek, had woken him up when the light of Narbondel was barely visible in his heat spectrum – quite early indeed – with a string of terse commands and curses as he shook him none-too-gently from Reverie. He had little explanation for Zek – Sramek was good for swinging a sword, but little else – save the scroll trimmed in pale lavender phosphorescence bearing instructions that he was to report to House Baenre with two other male drow whom Zek was hardly acquainted with. It was a curious summons indeed, one that Zek had been skeptical of from the moment his brother had thrust it into his hand, but he knew better than to question the will of the ruling house of Menzoberranzan. If the First House called for you, you came to call or some ill would inevitably befall you.

Zek didn't pretend he hadn't a clue as to why House Baenre was calling on him, for he assumed it had everything to do with his unusual skill set. He had discovered at a very young age that the art of sword fighting was not for him when the spiked mace of one of his fellow students at Melee Magthere had taken his right eye, and had found his niche in the wizard's tower of Sorcere shortly after. Life among the more cerebral sect of dark elf males was no less difficult but far more preferable in his opinion, for he had been born with a great capacity for knowledge and thirsted to learn all that he could from the mighty sorcerers who made their homes there. He had an aptitude for divine magic, but he had a passion for the school of alteration; it seemed that whatever he laid eyes on he could envision some unorthodox or unexpected use for, and he used that to his advantage with each passing opportunity.

Altering the world around him and molding it for his purposes had eventually led him to his first attempts at changing his own physical appearance, changes so subtle that only the most observant among his fellow spellcasters would ever notice. He had started with lightening the hideous scar over his empty right socket, for nothing set his blood to boiling quite like his own ruined visage glaring back at him in every mirror he encountered. From there he had moved on to varying the hue of his single working eye – he would show up to alchemy class with an acid-green left eye, and two hours later he could be find sitting in a conjuration lecture with that same eye an electric blue. His alteration instructor had once praised his skill and awarded him with a few books from his own private library regarding the art of altering one's own appearance, and from that point on his favorite pastime had become something of an obsession.

It had taken decades, but he had eventually mastered the ability to change his entire appearance at will – in recent years he had begun taking on contracts from other houses, impersonating a person of his temporary employers' choosing in order to complete a wide range of tasks. It was a good way to build a reputation in a city where the male sex was considered inferior, and it lined his pockets with a decent amount of coin.

His feet navigated him out of the Bazaar while his mind buzzed with his own musings, and by the time he had all but completed his contemplations he found himself standing at the top of the grand staircase that led up to the plateau upon which was built Tier Breche. The plateau was home to three of Menzoberranzan's most magnificent structures, the homes for all young drow depending upon their gender and their aptitude – to his immediate left was the great tower of Sorcere, the place where male drow furthered their studies in all manner of arcane magic, piercing the cavernous high ceiling like a spear. Straight ahead of where he stood was a massive structure sculptured after the likeness of a behemoth spider, lined in various hues of faerie fires and phosphorescence to enhance its many arachnid carvings – Arach Tinilith, where all female drow devoted their early years to the study, devotion, and practice of Lolth's teachings. Zek had never set foot in the school of Lolth, and fervently hoped he never had reason to. His destination, however, was on his right – the pyramidal structure of Melee Magthere, where male drow with an aptitude for the arts martial were sent to hone their skills and eventually one day become a foot soldier for their proud house, or a Weapons Master if they were exceedingly skilled and incredibly lucky.

He entered the compound unmolested but was stopped before he could enter the training chambers; one of the senior members was passing, and Zek's sorcerer's robes were a clear sign that he didn't belong here. The senior member was of a lesser house, Zek was certain, for his features were something less than noble and both his dress and his weapon hinted at common birth.

"What business have you here?" the senior student asked him with gruff suspicion, and Zek presented the scroll that had been borne from House Baenre.

"I am charged with summoning two of your own, whom I have been told are not of Melee Magthere yet are currently attending advanced classes here," Zek told him with an air of superiority. He had long since considered those male drow who specialized in martial arts to be beneath Menzoberranzan's spellcasters, and he owed this commoner nothing. "They are to accompany me to the ruling house on business, by order of Matron Mother Quenthel Baenre."

The student who had dared to impede his progress actually took the scroll from his hand and read it over scrupulously, suspicion etched into his less-than-refined features; Zek waited with a touch of impatience, wondering whether the swordsman could read at all – his brother Sramek often entertained a similar facial expression when presented with a document of any kind. Finally the student looked up with a scowl, saying, "We have no such students here. What are you about?"

"You question the word of a matron mother?" Zek gasped with mock outrage, thoroughly enjoying himself now. "The matron mother of our ruling house, no less? Perhaps you would do well to present me to one of your instructors, who I daresay will be far more knowledgeable than you." If his blockheaded tour guide knew he was being insulted he didn't let on, merely turned his back and led the way down one of the many sweeping corridors that delved deeper into the complex; Zek followed along soundlessly, smirking to himself with glee.

The first instructor they encountered was also someone with whom Zek was not familiar, but he wore the sigil of House Fey-Branche embroidered in rubies upon the breast of his lightly-padded armor; Zek courteously bowed low, for he knew well enough how best to present himself, and when. The student leading him passed over the scroll with a word of introduction and settled for glaring menacingly at Zek while his superior's eyes raced over the parchment. When he had finished – considerably faster than his protégé, Zek noted with amusement – he released the scroll and let it roll back up in his hand looking thoughtful.

The senior student misinterpreted his master's silence. "Shall I escort the wizard out through the nearest window?"

The master's laser like crimson eyes narrowed forbiddingly and he rapped his pupil none-too-gently on the back of the head; Zek did well to hide his smirk, but inside he was positively alight with wicked mirth. "I would be better served throwing you out into the street, for oftentimes I am convinced that you would command more prowess mucking the rothe stables!" The master boasting the Fey-Branche insignia roared. "Why are you not overseeing your first years? You will be flayed alive for your lack of vigilance! Away with you!" When the senior student had slunk away with his head bowed and his eyes fixed sullenly upon the floor, the Fey-Branche noble beckoned Zek forward with one hand. "Your charges are not of Melee Magthere, but of Bregan D'aerthe – they attend regular classes as per their master's orders, when they are not otherwise occupied. I will take you to them."

They continued on their way in silence, for it wasn't as if they had anything to talk about and Zek was now deep in thought. What use could House Baenre possibly have for riffraff from Bregan D'aerthe? In Menzoberranzan the band was little more than a motley collection of mercenaries, male drow who had no house affiliations and were little better than a menagerie of hired swords who sold their services to whomever boasted the fullest purse. He couldn't imagine that House Vandree would ever have anything to do with traitors, vagabonds, and homeless waifs such as these – what reason could the ruling house of Menzoberranzan possibly have for summoning them?

"Here," the master said aloud, effectively derailing Zek's train of thought, and they passed through a door on the right side of the hallway.

Inside it was almost uncomfortably warm – Zek wisely shifted his vision from the infrared spectrum to the normal spectrum of light, for the heat filled his eyesight with jarring shades of orange and red and made glimpsing anything confusing. The chamber was quite small and sparsely furnished with only a few matching shelves lining the walls opposite the door; each shelf was filled with alchemical ingredients of various colors and consistencies, some of which even Zek was loathe to name. In the center of the room stood four young male drow clustered around an alchemy lab, at the head of which stood one of the members of Bregan D'aerthe; Zek only knew him from the cut of his clothing and the emblem he wore upon a choker at his throat, the symbol of the mercenary band. His white hair he wore in a ponytail at the base of his skull and his eyes were a curious shade of fuchsia, a touch too light to be considered red and thus an anomaly. He was shorter than Zek and carried no weapons on his person that the alterationist could see, but he did wear a cape clasped upon his right shoulder that concealed most of that side of his body. The younger students glanced up when the door slid shut behind Zek but the sellsword didn't – he merely continued about his business, combining alchemical ingredients with deft movements of dexterous fingers, his oddly-hued eyes intent about his work.

The Fey-Branche master cleared his throat pointedly, and at last the mercenary looked up. "Master Auvryndar, a summons for you."

"Very well." The one called Master Auvryndar entrusted the student on his immediate left with the mortar and pestle he had been using, and hurriedly murmured very specific instructions. "An ounce more nightshade, no more, do you understand? Grind it into a powder – that's good, make it very fine – and then you can add your moonstone. Two carats will suffice. Mix well, and you'll have a paralysis potion fit to coat your weapons with. Carry on." The dark elf with the odd fuchsia eyes moved away from the younger students then, leaving them to carry on about the potion making, and reaching Zek he extended his hand. "A summons, you say? I confess, I wasn't expecting such a thing. What can you tell me about it?"

Impulsively Zek opened his mouth to remind the mercenary of his place and to mind his words, but he thought better of it when they shook – there was something about the mercenaries of Bregan D'aerthe that made him feel distinctly uneasy. "Only that we are to make for House Baenre without delay," he offered, for that was really all the information he had. "I am Zek, of House Vandree."

The mercenary nodded knowingly; the understanding in his eyes was unnerving. "And I am called Mourntrin of House Auvryndar – though those who know me find it more fitting to call me Mourn."

Zek nodded along sagely, but did not ask why such a mantra would be fitting. He found that he would rather not find out. House Auvryndar was a prestigious house in the drow city Ched Nasad, which Zek himself had visited once or twice many years past – it was shrouded with mystery, and whisperings even suggested that perhaps the Matron Mother of House Auvryndar was far more than she seemed. He found himself wondering what business had brought Mourn to Menzoberranzan, and how he had fallen in with the brigands of the infamous mercenary clan – for the present, though, he decided to keep such inquiries for another day.

"I am also to bring Xuntath with us," Zek remembered, his eyes sweeping the scroll that had come from House Baenre. "Do you know of him?"

Mourn nodded once, his face impassive, his eyes strangely lifeless. Zek found himself intimidated and unnerved by him. "I will take you to him, and then we will see what it is the Baenres want with us."

Zek allowed the mercenary to lead him out of the stuffy alchemy chamber, gratefully shifting his vision back into the infrared spectrum as he frowned at the shorter drow's back. For his sake, Zek hoped Mourn remembered his manners before they found themselves before the throne of Matron Mother Quenthel Baenre – though not nearly as tyrannous as her late mother, Quenthel was a force to be reckoned with and would hardly tolerate the insolence of an upstart male from a house of no consequence.

They didn't have far to go – Mourn eased open the door directly across from them and closed it just as quietly, his eyes skimming their new surroundings perceptively and his tread light and cautious. Zek was annoyed at the mercenary's caution, but when he turned his attention to the room at large he could immediately see why his companion was being so wary – they were interrupting a training session, and quite a strange one at that.

No less than five senior students of Melee Magthere – including a friend of his brother Sramek's, the second son of House Freth – squared off against a single wiry drow whose face was hooded and cowled; he wore not armor but the garb of a commoner, though Zek could sense strange magical auras surrounding him that suggested he was far more than he appeared at first glance, and Zek knew that his eyes were closed because only darkness projected from beneath his hood. As the first of the senior students hefted his hauberk and leapt forward with a battle cry upon his lips, Zek found himself hoping that the lone drow in the center of their circle was struck down in the opening exchange.

Even with his eyes closed he sidestepped the first blow precisely, his weight balanced perfectly upon the balls of his feet as he spun a graceful pirouette and ducked just beneath the slashing hauberk; two more of his opponents, armed with a short sword and a pair of daggers, respectively, lunged into the fray but were similarly foiled when their adversary first ducked, then launched himself into a midair horizontal spin that brought him flying out of reach of the twin daggers. The rest of the battle was difficult for Zek to follow, though he knew from the frustrated grunts of the Melee Magthere students that each attack found only air; with each blow that the lone drow gracefully dodged Zek found himself awed and increasingly more intimidated, and thought perhaps he was beginning to understand just why House Baenre had called upon the talents of two members of Bregan D'aerthe.

The battle was over just as quickly as it had begun, the moment the hooded drow came down gracefully upon his feet and opened his eyes.

Zek had only a fraction of a second to perceive that those eyes were white as snow and empty as the most limitless void, and then all was chaos as the melee students shrieked aloud and dropped their weapons to the ground; with those chilling eyes the hooded drow mercilessly drove his enemies to the ground, twisting their weapons into useless scraps of metal and wringing pitiable cries of agony from their throats –

"Xuntath," Mourn finally spoke up quietly, a smirk playing about the corners of his mouth, "we have business elsewhere. End this mockery and let us be on our way."

As abruptly as the carnage had began it now stopped; Xuntath's eyes cut to the door, where he recognized his fellow mercenary, and the melee students slumped to the floor and lay still. Several masters and a few other senior students struck up a spattering of awed and disbelieving applause, but in response to their praise Xuntath simply lifted his hands and walked his fingers deftly through the eloquent drow sign language. _Not all battles can be won by strength of arm, as you can plainly see,_ he told the masters, the slight emphasis to his digits a clear display of his distaste for his opponents and their lack of skill. _I suggest you train this lot to hone their wills as well, or they will find themselves in dire straits against those with a capacity for such arts._ Then he turned and made his way toward Mourn, and Zek caught a glimpse of the sigil inscribed upon the token upon the choker he wore.

 _He is of House Oblodra_ , Zek thought to himself, equal parts loathing and uneasy, but then Xuntath joined them and he had to struggle to purge the distaste from his expression.

House Oblodra had been eradicated by House Baenre during the Time of Troubles, a cataclysmic event whose repercussions resounded throughout the whole of the Underdark and reshaped the hierarchy of Menzoberranzan itself. The curious Oblodra family had been wielders of psionics, a rare sect of mind magic that afford them unspeakable powers that they harnessed at will with a single thought. When the goddess Lolth had abandoned her followers and the female drow had lost their divine powers, House Oblodra had moved against countless houses in an attempt to gain power and prestige throughout the city – Lolth's priestesses were without their magic, but the Obladras were not. In the end even House Baenre had found itself threatened by the growing power of House Oblodra, and in one of the most devastating inter-house battles in the history of Menzoberranzan the ruling house had eventually triumphed and eradicated the would-be usurper. Zek had heard it told that the first son of House Oblodra, Kimmuriel, was something of a lieutenant within the ranks of Bregan D'aerthe, but he had never imagined that there might be two psionists employed by the mercenary band.

"We have been summoned by House Baenre," Mourn explained, and Xuntath's expression soured.

 _What could they possibly require of us?_ he signed, his movements a little jerky in his annoyance. _Lolth knows the Baenres are not fond of Bregan D'aerthe, and even less fond of male drow finding success of any kind that the priestesses of the Spider Queen did not afford them._

Zek blinked his single working eye slowly once in disbelief, his dislike for the mercenaries of Bregan D'aerthe mounting with each passing moment. Did these houseless vagabonds have no shame? For countless centuries the members of House Baenre had been considered the Spider Queen's own descendants, born from the crystalline webs that she herself weaved deep in the Abyss, and all denizens of Menzoberranzan were bound to serve them as faithfully as they might serve Lolth herself. To speak such ill of the ruling family of their city was akin to besmirching their own goddess's name, something that Zek stood very firmly against – he might have castigated them then, but remembering his mandate he decided against it. Let the Baenres exercise their displeasure, a punishment more severe than his own could ever be. Perhaps that would remind them of their place.

"I know not," the master of Sorcere said at last, when he was certain he had championed his ire. "Let us make haste to Qu'ellarz'orl and find out." He deliberately kept them at his back as he led the way out of Melee Magthere to display that he did not feel threatened by them, but the instinctive urge to keep them in his sights was present as they made their way and he couldn't help but wonder if they could sense his true discomfort.

They did not converse as they descended the grand staircase leading down from Tier Breche; judging by the position of the magical heat burning upon the great spire of Narbondel, the only timepiece the drow had constructed near the center of the great underground city, Zek guessed that the changing of the guard around the noble houses built upon Narbondellyn and Qu'ellarz'orl would have concluded by the time they arrived. They passed through the Bazaar but Zek did not allow them to linger about the shops, keeping a determined pace until they had moved out of the heart of the bustling square and emerged with Eastmyr and the Braeryn, the lower districts where the ill-fortuned and lesser races made their homes, on their left. Zek lifted his chin a little higher as they passed the nearest collection of run-down hovels that constituted part of the Braeryn, reminding himself of his noble birth and high station, and it served to bolster his confidence where his two silent companions were concerned.

South of the Braeryn was a finely-constructed privacy fence that separated the lower districts from Narbondellyn, a distinguished residential district in which dwelled a handful of Menzoberranzan's most prestigious drow families; Zek led them between the rock garden of House Godeep and the formidable stalagmites that served as deterrent to the left flank of House Srune'lett, each with a handful of mounted drow soldiers patrolling the exterior. The master of Sorcere nodded haughtily to anyone they passed, gaining confidence with each step he took, for his own house was just visible beyond the courtyard that sprawled behind House Srune'lett and he drew strength from the sight of its magnificent stalagmite towers piercing into the limitless cavern ceiling and the emerald green faerie fires burning with majestic subtlety about its boundaries. He hailed the guard keeping the peace outside House Vandree, and then they were scaling the ornately-carved staircase that led from Narbondellyn up to Qu'ellarz'orl.

Here was built the grandest and most powerful drow houses in Menzoberranzan, the eight structures that were a part of the Ruling Council that governed the flourishing dark elf city. Zek lost a measure of his swelling pride the moment he stood among the grandiose and imposing houses that constituted the most prominent families of their society; no less than two of House Vandree would fit within the squat but sprawling boundaries of House Agrach Dyrr, and it had been said that the army under the command of House Barrison Del'Armgo numbered at four times the amount of soldiers that House Vandree could boast. House Baenre loomed at the very back of Qu'ellarz'orl, its intimidating edifices limned with deep violet faerie fire and its gated courtyard barred and awash with guards; Zek couldn't help feeling awed by the sheer majesty of the residence of the ruling house, which more closely resembled a palace than anything else.

Predictably they were stopped by stern-faced guards bearing the sigil of Baenre as they approached; Mourn and Xuntath stood idly by, their faces impassive and almost bored as Zek hastened to present the parchment upon which was scrawled their summons. The legitimacy of the letter could hardly be questioned, emblazoned as it was with the Baenre insignia in dark purple wax, and soon enough the gate was opened for them and a small contingent of the guard escorted them through the courtyard. Zek allowed his single burgundy eye to wander about his unfamiliar surroundings as they made their way to the sweeping entrance, taking in the obsidian sculptures of terrifying spiders and comely female drow that symbolized Lolth in both of the forms she often chose to take. Craning his neck back he could see that in several places the piercing stalagmites connected with stalactites jutting from the unfathomable ceiling; where these joined the Baenres had built platforms, upon which patrolled small groups of drow robed in rich _piwafwis_ and armed with deadly hand crossbows.

 _Woe betide those foolish enough to intrude upon House Baenre,_ Zek found himself thinking, and then they had passed through the angular archway and into the impossibly spacious foyer.

The guard leading the small contingent of soldiers that comprised their formal escort presented their summons to a mute male drow slave, who nodded with understanding right away and gestured for them to follow; Zek led the way after him, unnerved by the resounding silence of the too-large hallways, up to a pair of great obsidian double doors upon which was carved with stunning intricacy the resurrection of Lolth to end the Time of Troubles. The depiction was sublime – the goddess in her cocoon in the deep darkness of the Abyss, the sacrifice of the battle captive Danifae to serve as the Spider Queen's new _Yor'thae_ , and the triumphant rebirth of Lolth as she bestowed her divine blessing upon the unwaveringly faithful and executed her retribution upon those who had conspired against her in her dormant state. Zek had only a handful of seconds to admire the delicate carvings upon the doors before the slave was bowing them inside, and straightening he accepted the summons and strode purposefully forward. He was of House Vandree, a Master of Sorcere. He would not be intimidated by the grandeur that surrounded him.

The doors opened into an ovular-shaped audience chamber upon whose walls was etched a breathtaking illustration of the history of House Baenre and its many great accolades; Zek was able to name the failed assassination attempt on former matron mother Triel Baenre by a member of the Jaezred Chaulssin, the great battle between Archmage Gromph Baenre and the Lichdrow Dyrr, matron mother Quenthel Baenre usurping power from her sister Triel, and the fall of the traitor House Oblodra from its position of Third House to extinction. He glanced curiously over his shoulder at Xuntath, wondering how the psionist would swallow a grand depiction of the eradication of his once-exalted house and all of his ancestors, but was disappointed to find him looking as detached as ever. Zek cut his single working eye to the high-backed obsidian throne in the center of the audience chamber, expecting to find himself in the presence of the great Matron Mother Quenthel herself, and couldn't help feeling a little affronted to find it wasn't Quenthel sitting there awaiting him. He worked hard to keep the confusion from his face as he led their approach, sifting through his knowledge of the ruling house as he struggled to identify the female drow awaiting them haughtily upon the throne, and it was only when he bent the knee at the foot of her revered seat and bowed his head in obeisance that recognition dawned upon his downturned face – this was Quartana Baenre, second eldest daughter to Matron Mother Quenthel, she whom the priestesses dwelling within Arach Tinilith reverently called The Seer.

As Zek understood it, Quartana had been afflicted with strange and curious dreams from a very young age – some said she had been born with the ability to see the future and her talent manifested itself into visions she could only glimpse at night, and still others insisted that the dreams were a gift from the Spider Queen herself, a blessed daughter for the devout and pious matron mother of House Baenre. Within the walls of Sorcere, those male drow who had spent decades, even centuries, studying ways to unlock the secrets of divining the future insisted that such powers were impossible for any mortal to obtain – the drow were long lived, certainly, but they died all the same, and though they were as ambitious as any other race their minds were perhaps not vast enough to comprehend such world-altering knowledge. Personally, Zek had heard the whisperings of Quartana's gift and thought her quite the fraud – with such a power at her disposal, could she not put an end to Menzoberranzan's most deadly and hated enemies? Was the ability to conquer entire kingdoms and mold the world however she saw fit not within her grasp? He wasn't certain, but he couldn't help but wonder how much of Quartana's gift was truth and how much was exaggeration.

"My lady," Zek greeted her graciously. "We have come – "

"I know why you have come, Zek Vandree," the priestess drawled disinterestedly, a sigh of impatience in her voice. "Did I not summon you? Hold your tongue, your impertinent wretch, and listen to my words, for I guarantee you will find them far more insightful than anything you might have said. And raise yourself from the floor - I have little interest in talking to the back of your head. I would see the wonder on your face when you learn of the great honor the Spider Queen would bestow upon you."

When he took his feet with all the dignity he could muster he found that her eyes had slipped past him, alternating appraising glances between Xuntath and Mourn, who had bowed but not knelt before her. Rather than chastise them she nodded her approval, as though somehow pleased by what she saw. "Yes… You are the ones I saw. I thought so. Praise be to the Spider Queen for making the Sight so clear to me." Quartana relaxed back into the throne as though it was she, and not her mother Quenthel, who belonged there, glancing toward the single other female drow who occupied the chamber besides her. "I doubt you are well acquainted with my companion – you are but lowly males, after all – so allow me to present Nhilue Xorlarrin to you. She has also been chosen to carry out the Spider Queen's will."

To say that Nhilue was lovely by drow standards was an understatement – she was of remarkable beauty, the likes of which Zek had not seen in his two centuries of life. Where Quartana's hair was eggshell-white with a wave about the tresses Nhilue's was straight and white as newly-fallen snow; her skin was smooth as the black marble upon which they stood, and her facial features gracefully angular as befit their elven heritage. Quartana's eyes might have been a bright and luminous ruby, but the comely Xorlarrin's were deeper and darker, plush crimson velvet; she was not as thick of limb as her female counterpart but perhaps an inch taller, her build more willowy than most drow females, giving her a deceptive look of frailty. Zek could not say that he knew her personally, but he knew well enough her reputation – it was a rare occasion in which a female dark elf was given leave to pursue any study aside from her worship to the goddess Lolth, but the name Nhilue Xorlarrin was well known throughout the tower of Sorcere as one of the most accomplished conjurers in the city of Menzoberranzan. He also knew that she was exceedingly cruel to all male drow who had the misfortune of crossing her path – it seemed fitting, somehow, that her demeanor should be as cruel as her beauty.

Remembering himself, Zek spread his hands and lowered his head – House Xorlarrin outranked House Vandree, after all, and he was but a lowly male in the presence of two very powerful priestesses of Lolth. "We are honored to be in your presence," he told them both, his tone humble and gracious, and he wished his two companions would speak up for themselves – if they thought themselves too good to converse with the daughter of the matron mother of House Baenre, they would soon see the error of such foolish thinking. "We will serve you as best we may."

"You will if you want to live," snapped Nhilue, and Zek couldn't help but marvel at her. There was venom in her words and fury in her eyes, but it seemed to him that she was more beautiful in her anger than even before.

"Now, now," Quartana chuckled sardonically, putting out a hand and patting Nhilue's arm in a placating fashion. "There will be plenty of opportunity to discipline them later, of that I have no doubt… For now, though, we must talk. The Spider Queen has determined that we shall carry out her will, and so we shall without delay. But first… I assume you are all familiar with the name Lim Tal'eyve?"

Zek knew it well enough – all drow did this day and age – but it was Mourntrin Auvryndar who answered first. "Once he was the Anointed Blade of the Jaezred Chaulssin, the male drow extremist group who plotted the overthrow of the drow priestesses during the Time of Troubles," he explained, his voice carefully neutral – it was unwise to speak of the upheaval of their matriarchal society, for the drow priestesses ruled all with an iron fist. "When the Spider Queen returned she exacted retribution upon those who had strayed from her side – Lim Tal'eyve may have been among the first to fall, for his crimes against her were heinous and unforgivable. It is said that the Spider Queen's vengeance came in the form of a Mielikki druid called Drako Falconis, who killed him before his plans to bear the Anointed Blade to the Abyss to slay the Spider Queen where she lay sleeping could come to fruition, and that afterward Lim Tal'eyve suffered unceasing tortures at the goddess's pleasure."

"Continue," Quartana bade him, lounging luxuriously back in the throne, and Zek was so engrossed in the assassin's tale that he flinched at the sound of her voice.

Mourn nodded once, readily compliant. "It is believed that he forged some sort of accord with the Spider Queen, for several years later Lim Tal'eyve was risen and seated himself upon the throne within the accursed Castle Perilous while he razed the Bloodstone Lands. Whatever he meant to accomplish was not to pass, though, for before he could reap the rewards of his conquest he was struck down yet again by Mielikki's champion Drako Falconis. It is said that he rots in the Abyss still, existing only to bring the Spider Queen amusement."

Quartana was nodding along as Mourn's tale came to a close, but in the way her eyes glittered conspiratorially Zek had to wonder if there was indeed more to the story. "You are not wrong, but the tale of Lim Tal'eyve does not end there. The Spider Queen has graciously shared with me the lichdrow's machinations of late, and the truth of his business is appalling – knowing the goddess's love of chaos and discord he was able to secure for himself yet another bargain with her, hoping to prove his loyalty and secure his freedom by exchanging his own soul for that of another whom the Spider Queen also despises. His choice fell upon Aveil Arthien, who was once the wife of this Drako Falconis, but he was not successful in that particular endeavor. Despite his countless failures he was somehow able to make one last bargain with the Spider Queen, who aided him in leading scores of phaerimm against an ancient and powerful civilization. It was our goddess's belief that Lim Tal'eyve was doing this to cripple the power of Shar, when in fact he was pursuing his own ends." Quartana ended with a heavy sigh as though somehow pained on her goddess's behalf. "Now he is alive and well – this much I have Seen – and is undoubtedly using his new power and influence to plan a counter-offensive against our lady Lolth."

It was silent for the span of several heartbeats as they all processed this information, and Zek found that he really had only one question. "Phaerimm are very old, very strong creatures – few civilizations could stand against an attack of such a magnitude. Who has Lim Tal'eyve allied himself with, who was able to turn the tide of such an assault and live to tell of it?"

"The shadow masters of Thultanthar," Quartana told them, unable to hide her scowl of distaste when she said the name.

The place struck a faint chord of recognition in Zek, but he was unable to place it right away; across from him, Nhilue Xorlarrin looked similarly stymied. He chose to ask the obvious question for her, in the hopes that she would show him favor. "I confess, I cannot place the name."

Standing between the throne and Mourntrin, Xuntath lifted his hands and articulated the answer in the drow sign language. _The last remaining city of the archwizards of the Netherese Imperium, the only such floating enclave to survive Karsus' Folly. The Empire of Shade from which rules Lord Shadow and his Twelve Princes of Shade._

Zek raised an eyebrow, his single burgundy eye flitting across each of his companions in turn to gauge their reactions. "Lim Tal'eyve has surrounded himself with mighty allies, it would seem." He turned back to Quartana Baenre, who was lounging languidly back against the throne; for the first time his eye slipped past her to study the intricate stonework that adorned the obsidian against her back, a surprisingly detailed depiction of former matron other Yvonnel Baenre's face in profile. "Forgive my insolence, priestess, but I cannot help but wonder what these events have to do with us." Half-formed assumptions had been chasing one another around his mind since the moment he had first set eyes upon the summons, but he simply couldn't determine the common denominator that they all shared. It seemed that Quartana and Nhilue had become acquainted with one another and it was clear that Xuntath and Mourn, belonging to the same organization, knew one another well enough, but Zek would hardly call them all familiar. What could the Baenre priestess have planned for them?

At last she regarded them resolutely, preparing to divulge the truth of their meeting, but Zek was in no way ready for what she had to say. "The goddess spoke to me in a dream, as she often does," Quartana began haughtily. "She has selected us for the singular honor of eliminating Lim Tal'eyve, and those now closest to him."

Only Nhilue looked at all pleased by Quartana's announcement, and judging by the stiffness of her jaw Zek suspected that was mostly for her superior's benefit; Zek did not miss the dubious glance that Mourn and Xuntath shared, which encompassed all emotions from confusion to suspicion and even alarm. He felt only a sense of dread – he was as devoted to serving the Spider Queen as any male of their matriarchal society, but anyone could see that Quartana was sending them to their deaths.

"Well?" the Baenre priestess demanded at last, her piercing crimson irises darting to each of them in turn, and it was clear in her incredulous gaze that she couldn't comprehend why they weren't rejoicing. "Are you not pleased?"

Xuntath lifted his hands and walked his fingers haltingly through a reply. _It is an honor to do the goddess' bidding, to be sure, but how can you be certain that she has selected us for this task? Lim Tal'eyve is a formidable foe – you have only to examine his sordid history to see that – and we are but five. We scarcely know one another, and we will need every advantage if we are to have any hope of success._

"I have Seen it," Quartana repeated stubbornly, as if that fact should settle the matter. "All that I see will eventually come to pass. That is the way of it."

"But I do not understand," Mourn broke in, his brow creased with doubt. "Have you seen us accompanying you? What reason could you have for choosing us?"

Nhilue opened her mouth vehemently, a protest on her lips, but Quartana lifted a hand in a wordless request that she stay her words. "In my dream there were drow infiltrating the darkest, most private recesses of the Empire of Shade. I witnessed a curious hooded drow with dreadful white eyes doing battle of the minds with a shadowed creature that was obviously not of high Netherese birth. I saw a comely drow female conjure a pack of hellhounds and set them upon the Archmistress of the Citadel of Assassins. I saw a silent assassin slit the throat of a great slumbering monarch and a shadow princess-to-be. I watched a one-eyed drow impersonate Lord Shadow and murder one of his own sons. And I watched myself tear the shadow orb from Lim Tal'eyve's chest." The Baenre priestess abruptly pushed herself upright, seeming somehow too large for the elaborate throne in which she sat as she gazed around at them all. "I have spent a fortnight communing with the Spider Queen, studying these images with great care. I am not wrong in this. You are those whom I glimpsed in my dream, and we are meant to be the instruments of our goddess' destruction."

This time when Mourn and Xuntath exchanged a silent glance it was one of a far different sort – curiosity, awe, intrigue. They had reached the same conclusion, Zek suspected, that he had – perhaps Quartana wasn't as mad as they had originally taken her for. For how else could she have known to summon them? They had absolutely nothing in common – this was, after all, the first time they had ever inhabited the same room! What if there truly was merit to her dreams? Could it be that Lolth truly had imparted her will upon her servant while she slept? Was it possible that their goddess had done such a thing before?

"Even if this is true," Mourn began diplomatically, "and we are meant to carry out the Spider Queen's agenda, how are we meant to go about accomplishing all this? The Princes of Shade will hardly feel inclined to grant us admittance when they learn that we mean them ill."

"Not only that," Nhilue added uncertainly, submissive in the face of a higher-ranking priestess' imminent wrath, "but we are the children of the Spider Queen, who is the bitter enemy of the Black Bitch Shar, whom the Shadovar are bound to serve. They would take one look at our faces and destroy us most malevolently, without pausing to ask us for our business there."

"We will not be asking for admittance," Quartana confirmed, a measure of her tension easing out of her shoulders and the smallest of conspiratorial smiles playing across her lips. "The purpose of this visit is in no way diplomatic in nature – we will not be asking permission to confront Lim Tal'eyve on even terms. The Spider Queen has named him the lowest, most abhorred traitor of our kind – for him there will be no clemency, and those who have thrown their lot in with him are now to be viewed as accomplices in his crimes. We will sneak unannounced into their city and perform our dark business in secret – Lolth has declared war upon the city of Thultanthar, and we are named as her advance guard."

A stunned silence descended upon them all as the meaning of Quartana's words slowly sunk in; the air stilled in Zek's lungs, and he found himself light-headed and dizzy. War? Upon the City of Shade? They were not surface dwellers, it was true, but word of Lord Shadow's bid for power had reached every corner of the Realms over the course of the last half year – how the Princes of Shade had intruded upon the Lords of Waterdeep in their own tower and brutally massacred them all, how Lady Alustriel of Silverymoon had surrendered her city into the hands of the shades out of fear. The lands that the Netherese had claimed in centuries past before the cataclysm known as Karsus' Folly had brought their race to near-extinction had been razed to the ground and reclaimed through blood and struggle over the course of hundreds of years – now they were bent on reclaiming what they viewed as rightfully theirs, and then some. But was it truly to be war? Was this the will of Lolth, or the delusions of one of Lolth's followers?

"You are afraid," Quartana observed disdainfully, her tone making it clear that her words were meant to serve as an observation and not a question. "You know the reputation of Thultanthar and feel terror when you consider coming to conflict with such an empire. Yet are we not as grand? Is Menzoberranzan not as fabled and mighty a city as any in all the Realms? Look at all we will be accomplishing when we succeed – and rest assured victory will be ours with the Spider Queen on our side."

She paused, waiting for them to articulate all that would be theirs in the event that such a victory was in fact within their reach, and it was Nhilue who spoke up thoughtfully on their behalf. "To take the life of Lim Tal'eyve would be a feat within itself. Such an act would be akin to slaying Drizzt Do'Urden, who has long been viewed as the ultimate traitor to our kind."

Her obvious intrigue fueled Zek's own interest, stoking the mounting flames of his determination, his dedication to this reckless cause. "If the Spider Queen has named us her champions in this, how can we fail? To eliminate the Twelve Princes of Shade… to slay the fabled Lord Shadow of legend… we would secure for ourselves the favor of Lolth for all our days. If we were to deliver this last remaining city of the once-great Netherese Imperium to our exalted lady we would gain for Menzoberranzan nearly limitless knowledge and resources. Imagine – foreign magics at our fingertips, the likes of which other nations could scarcely comprehend. A place for ourselves within the surface world, yet far from the prying eyes of its greedy and selfish inhabitants and ever-protected from the sun. Sacred lands that the world has fought to claim for millennia suddenly within our grasp." Zek Vandree found himself smiling then, white teeth stark against him ebon-skinned face, single burgundy eye shimmering with malicious excitement. "This is an opportunity for us to spread true chaos and discord in Lolth's name in such a way that has never before been attempted. How can we allow this chance to pass us by?"

Mourntrin Auvryndar was nodding along reluctantly yet resolutely, the greed and ambition characteristic of their race glimmering in the depths of his unusual fuchsia eyes. "The logic is sound, and the Spider Queen's will cannot be questioned. My talents are at your disposal, Lady Baenre. You have only to tell me the name of those you wish me to slay in Lolth's name, and by my hand it will be done."

Xuntath Oblodra's empty white irises were piercing through the darkness of his hooded face when he lifted his hands to reply. _There is not a mind in all the Realms that has found the strength to withstand the powers of House Oblodra, deceased though it may be. I intend to uphold that legacy, and use these gifts to prove to the Spider Queen that not all who bear the name Oblodra are treasonous._

With their pledges made and their intentions clear, Nhilue turned back to face Quartana Baenre. "When do we begin, priestess? How will we find our way into the City of Shade?"

Quartana relaxed her posture again, smiling as though their battles were already won as she surveyed them all appreciatively. "Trust in the Spider Queen. When it is time for us to strike, she will show us the way."

* * *

 _How did you find our new associates?_ the familiar voice of Xuntath Oblodra wafted through his mind later that night, for they were back in the headquarters of Bregan D'aerthe surrounded by their peers and he did not dare speak of such private business aloud. Mourn avoided eye contact, continuing about his business as though nothing were amiss, for they were still in the dining hall and it would seem only natural for him to stare blankly down at his plate without attracting any attention. Xuntath's presence hovered over him like a cloud, awaiting confirmation that Mourn had heard him, and taking a swig of wine he eyed his accomplice over the rim of his goblet pointedly.

 _Outside_. He thought the word clearly, for he was not at all attuned to these strange psionics that Xuntath and his descendants had come by so easily and often had to struggle to impart even the simplest words and phrases. He hoped that would be enough for the orphaned Oblodra, who preferred to speak using his telepathy or the drow sign language and not through any verbal exchange. Thankfully Xuntath nodded and did not protest, rising immediately from his seat three tables away and slipping out of the dining hall, and Mourn lingered long enough to finish the last few bites of his meal before following suit.

The primary headquarters of the mercenary band Bregan D'aerthe were situated within the deep crevasse of the Clawrift, in which it was rumored that ghosts and wraiths could be found aplenty. In truth, there was little credence to these claims – the lieutenants of the organization had facilitated such rumors long ago in order to keep prying eyes and ears out of their domain, and to ensure the relative secrecy of their organization's movements. Xuntath was awaiting him when Mourn made his way out of the great hall where meals were taken and large meetings were held and beckoned to him wordlessly, and they fell into step side-by-side and made their way further into the limitless blackness of the Underdark.

There was a subterranean pool to the east of Menzoberranzan where members of the mercenary band often went when they had leisure time to spend and they found themselves heading that way without agreeing to do so. The cavern in which the pool resided had a low ceiling with sharp stalactites jutting from the ceiling that made it appear much like the maw of an ancient, wicked beast; phosphorescent lichen grew in abundance, giving the cave a natural blue-green glow by which to see. The pool was too small to be considered a lake but deceptively deep in the center – the soft illumination of the lichen made it appear only waist-height on most drow, but its mirror-like surface masked depths up to forty feet in the center that had claimed the lives of many a careless wanderer in the past. Mourn stooped to pick up a rock as they neared the shore and cast it into the shallows with a deft flick of his wrist; the stone skipped the water four times, leaving a wake of gentle ripples at each point of impact before sinking beneath the fluorescent surface.

Xuntath's hands flashed – he was not possessed of Mourn's patience. _The arrangement?_

Mourn skipped a second rock, this one flat as a coin and white as bone, but he lost it in the harsh glow off the surface as he turned back to sign a reply – better to err on the side of caution, he knew. _It is a curious predicament that we find ourselves in, but not unwelcome. You know I have been awaiting an opportunity such as this for quite some time._

 _I do know._ Xuntath's eyes shone an electric blue-green in the light cast off the lichen, unblinking, fathomless. _The Baenre priestess is assured already of the smoothness of this operation… She thinks it inconceivable that we could fail in these matters. I had heard of these visions of hers, but of her stubbornness and naivety I knew nothing._

The orphaned Auvryndar chuckled beneath his breath in agreement – he had seen enough of Quartana's arrogance during their audience with her earlier that day to know that Xuntath's words held merit. _Still, what proof do we have that she does not commune with Lolth while she sleeps? Every word she speaks could be true – and if it is, I have little choice but to follow her into the Empire of Shade._

 _Her words may be false,_ Xuntath pointed out remorselessly, hardly one to beat around the bush. _Her words may be misinterpreted, or worse – what she has 'Seen', if she has seen anything at all, may not come to pass. I have studied the Sight, for I once had a sister who claimed to be in possession of such all-seeing powers. The things that she claimed would occur did not always play out as she had seen them – for example, if those within Thultanthar that Quartana has named as targets become wise to our movements –_

 _\- They might interfere,_ Mourn finished confidently, knowing that he was correct in his assumption. _They might take steps to alter the course of the future – even if that future is something a goddess has set into motion._

Xuntath was nodding along sagely, his response an ever-cryptic, _Nothing is certain._

 _Then Lim Tal'eyve may not be dwelling among the Shadovar at all,_ Mourn supposed, his fingers jerky with irritation. He had sacrificed too much for that to be the case. He needed this. More now rode upon his ability to come into contact with Lim Tal'eyve than perhaps anyone could begin to fathom – even Xuntath Oblodra, who had been his co-conspirator from almost the very start.

 _He must be,_ Xuntath countered, his voice almost reassuring, and for the normally taciturn psionist that was saying something. _Why else would the Spider Queen declare all-out war upon Thultanthar if it was not in some way connected to him? His list of transgressions against her runs long, longer perhaps than even those of Drizzt Do'Urden – one must assume that Lolth is willing to sacrifice much to bring him to heel. The question is, how much are you willing to risk to complete your true aim?_

Mourntrin Auvryndar took up another rock in his hand, turning it over in his fingertips as he frowned down at it, deep in thought. He had come a long way – he could still recall with startling clarity clawing his way out of the smoldering wreckage of his doomed house in Ched Nasad, eventually emerging the only survivor from an inner-house battle that had, in one fell swoop, eliminated every single one of his kin. He had scraped by from the moment he had become an orphan, grasping at every opportunity that came his way no matter how insignificant it seemed, fighting inch for bloody inch until he had arrived at the place he was today – alive and strong, feared and successful, junior lieutenant to the controversial yet deadly mercenaries of Bregan D'aerthe.

So really, Xuntath's question was not applicable. He had already risked everything to get to where he was.

 _All that I am,_ he said at last, launching the rock that had grown warm in his hand, and it skipped so seamlessly across the water that he heard it clack onto the opposite shore.

He took that as a good sign.


	5. The Knife in the Dark

In truth, Phendrana wasn't in complete seclusion – he was permitted to seek counsel from two people. The first of these was Lux, the curious Shadovar boy who served as head housekeeper in Villa Tareia, and whom Phendrana was beginning to suspect was far more than he appeared; though he seemed to be a young man of no more than twelve there were plenty of recent incidents to suggest this may not be the case. In the absence of those six extra voices plaguing his every thought Phendrana had become more observant than he had ever been, and it seemed to him that there was far too much wisdom in Lux's piercing green eyes where there ought to have been innocence, possibly even naivety. It was also apparent in the way that he spoke – he was wizened like a learned scholar and commanded an impressive vocabulary for one who seemed so young. Often of late Phendrana found himself immersed in psychological or theological conversations with the green-eyed Shadovar that left him brooding for hours – which was just as well, for the doppelganger was actively avoiding sleep just so that he wouldn't succumb to his strange dreams.

"I wonder," Phendrana had said one day when Lux had arrived to deliver books to him – in his confinement he had taken to studying the books in Villa Tareia's extensive library. "Why do we dream? Are they the last coherent thoughts we entertain before we enter our slumber? Are they fantastical, fictional tales we weave when our unconscious mind is restless? Or are they glimpses of things to come, fragments of the future in store for us?"

Lux had been sitting on the floor with his back against the front of Phendrana's great ebony desk at the time, his legs crossed and a great weathered tome entitled _The Crown-Against-Scepter Wars_ cradled upon his lap; his response had been immediate and insightful, and had chilled Phendrana to the bone. "I once dreamt that your hearthrug caught fire at high moonrise and engulfed everything in flame, for I had been thinking over my end of the day chores at the time and fell asleep uncertain whether I had tamed the flames before retiring. Another time I dreamt that I had sprouted griffon wings and flew to the great deserts of Calimshan, where I slew a creature that seemed to be half-minotaur and half-harpy to my eyes. And one night while you were away plundering Castle Tethyr I dreamt of you falling down through the dark and wandering aimlessly through lightless, earthen tunnels beneath the foundations of the castle." He had turned a page idly then, hardly lifting his gaze from what he read, finishing, "Can our dreams not be all of these things you have mentioned?"

Phendrana hadn't answered, simply dropped his gaze back down to his own book and wondered what manner of child spoke in such a manner. Still he never felt inclined to complain, or to send Lux away – he was honest to a fault and served Phendrana well, and until the doppelganger's evaluations had been completed and he was invited back to court Lux was one of his only two companions.

His other companion was the head of the Determinist's Guild, Third Prince Lamorak Tanthul.

While Phendrana sought Lux's company to stimulate his thoughts he often found himself far more relaxed, relieved even, to visit the guild at the end of the Determining day, for he pursued Lamorak for personal conversation. Their meetings had been sanctioned by the High Prince, for it was now Lamorak's responsibility to monitor Phendrana's rate of adaptation to his new life as a shade; at the outset they had spoken little, Phendrana still shell-shocked in the wake of the traumatic events leading up to his premature transformation, but after his first few uncertain visits he found Lamorak to be fine company. The Third Prince kept Phendrana's health and mental state the center of their affairs and was more often than not very businesslike in his conduct, but on rare occasions Phendrana almost felt that he could name the prince among his friends. This was equal parts comforting and confusing for him – having someone to talk to about all manner of things was refreshing, but if he remained in Lamorak's presence for too long he found himself yearning for Brennus's company.

On this night he found Lamorak alone in the Determinist's Guild, as was always the case – thus far High Prince Telamont seemed inclined to keep Phendrana out of the eye of the general public while he dealt with the fallout of Brennus's snap decisions in Castle Tethyr. Lamorak was at his desk in his private office, surrounded as always by towering stacks of parchment and scribbling away furiously. As Phendrana approached his eyes slipped to the words flowing from the tip of the prince's quill, mesmerized by the sprawling, slightly cramped hand that was in such stark contrast to Brennus's tidy, elegant script – he was always spellbound by how twelve men could look so physically similar, yet have such diverse personalities and characteristics.

Lamorak tossed his quill down upon his document with a flourish the moment he noted Phendrana's approach, and in response to the doppelganger's sheepish expression he cocked an eyebrow, saying, "You shadow walked to the wrong location again?"

Phendrana shrugged. "Possibly." When Lamorak's look grew sour, he decided to elaborate. "I shadow walked to the Church, but no one saw me as I appeared on the steeple and it is quite high off the ground."

Lamorak couldn't help the small smile that crept over his face at that, rocking his chair forward and taking his feet as he rounded the desk; he stood taller than Phendrana by four inches or so and possessed the keen intelligence of a scholar in his eyes, a scribe's long and nimble fingers, and a spellcaster's lean build. "Well, I suppose that's an improvement from your inadvertent trip to the veserab stables last week," he joked, cuffing the doppelganger on the shoulder good-naturedly, but his smile vanished just as easily to be replaced by a look of mild concern. "But really, what do you find is your difficulty as you are trying to travel from one location to the next? Do you find yourself lost in the shadow? Can you not see the gaps between dimensions?"

The doppelganger's eyes slipped to the floor, studying his supple black boots through the ever-present veil of shadows clinging protectively close to his body. How embarrassing to be the only shade in the history of Thultanthar to have difficulty navigating the Shadow Realm! "I confess, the Plane of Shadow is most confusing to me. I am uncertain how the rest of you find your way so easily, for I am baffled by it." He had no trouble whatsoever entering or leaving the Plane of Shadow – he had been dragged along by enough of the High Prince's progeny by now that he recognized the miniscule gaps between dimensions as easily as he distinguished between colors – but still the Shadow Plane seemed a limitless expanse of formless shadows and fathomless darkness. How was one to find one's way through such a place?

The Determinist Prime was nodding along respectfully while Phendrana spoke, and when he had finished Lamorak gestured with one hand at nothing in particular – Phendrana knew well enough by now that this was a silent reference to the shadowy world that existed in tandem with the Material Plane, like two sides of the same coin. "Let us have one more lesson on this matter before I examine you today – it cannot be long before the High Prince invites you back to court, and it would not do for you to lose your way when he is watching!"

"No," said Phendrana with a rueful little smile, "it wouldn't." He beckoned for Lamorak to lead the way and followed along behind him, uttering a small sigh of resignation as they went – would he ever truly feel a part of their society, or was he doomed forever to be an outcast?

They stood beside one another, Phendrana's eyes flitting somewhat uncertainly from one shadow to the next and Lamorak noting well the obvious doubt in the doppelganger's expression. He had vowed to help Phendrana overcome his self-conscious tendencies where the shadow was concerned, and had given the High Prince his word that when next the doppelganger was summoned to court he would be polished in his newfound abilities and assured of all he was capable of – for Phendrana to appear before the Twelve Princes of Shade seeming so uncertain would simply no do. With a start Lamorak came to the realization that perhaps he was teaching all the correct lessons in a format that was not necessarily beneficial to Phendrana, and with that in mind he spoke.

"Thus far I have been instructing you to be mindful of your surroundings," Lamorak began, waving one hand to indicate the numerous formless shadows that constituted their current environment. "I have stressed upon you the importance of seeing beyond the darkness and glimpsing the secrets that the shadows work so hard to mask in this place – and I see now that I was wrong to tell you such things." Phendrana glanced up at him curiously, protuberant silver eyes confused and expectant within his shadow-swathed face, and Lamorak continued. "Your strength is not in your sight but in your unique ability to perceive everything around you using your mental influence – it is that trait that I would have you utilize now. Do not look with your eyes – as a matter of fact I think you might do better if you closed them, and saw nothing at all."

Phendrana did as he was told and closed his eyes, and almost immediately felt the shift in his own perspective as his mind worked to compensate for the sudden loss of his vision; the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and every synapse of his consciousness seemed suddenly ultra-defined, and he could feel his considerable mental influence stretching out into the space around him, studying his surroundings, scanning the area for potential threats. He could feel the unintelligible thoughts of lesser shadow creatures firing not so far away, but he was assured of his own strength as well as the nigh-limitless power of the shadow prince standing at his side and knew that such weak-willed creatures wouldn't trouble them.

Lamorak's voice reached him from seemingly very far away. "Good. Now that you see nothing, I want you to _feel_ your surroundings with your mind, if you will – that is, push your mental influence away from yourself and sense the conflicting auras of the places you might go. You know the enclave well – you know that the Shadow Mages College _feels_ differently than the Church of Shar might, and you know that places like the Determinist's Guild and the Hall of the Arts Martial have nothing in common and are thus easily distinguished from one another. Will all of this in mind, take a moment to acclimate yourself to this new way of thinking. _Feel_ your way around the city with your mind. _Feel_ the mental patterns of others, and use those to guide your way."

It was an entirely new way of thinking and the logic may have been lost on anyone else, but to a highly cerebral creature such as Phendrana this was a perfectly simple line of thought. Where before he had been struggling to tell one shadow from the next using his eyes he now felt a sudden surging of confidence just feeling his way about the Shadow Realm, linking easily to the thought patterns of those he was most familiar with and using those as waypoints. With barely an effort he was able to sense the locations of half a dozen of the High Prince's court in the blink of an eye.

"Where will I go?" he breathed wondrously, focusing effortlessly upon what felt like pinpricks of light within the darkness, feeling as though the whole of the world had been laid at his feet.

"Take us to the Hall of the Arts Martial," Lamorak suggested, his voiced pitched into a careful undertone so as not to shatter Phendrana's concentration. "I suspect it may be easy for you to distinguish… Take care that we are not seen, if you will."

Phendrana nodded once to show that he understood before shifting his stance and turning, and keeping his eyes stubbornly closed he put one foot determinedly in front of the other and led the way through the Plane of Shadow. It was easy to pretend that he was still a part of the Material Plane when he could not see the thick curtains of shadow obscuring everything from sight, and if he focused his thoughts upon a singular goal he found that the Shadow Realm was not so intimidating. Lamorak followed soundlessly along in his wake, noting well the change in the doppelganger's posture and grinning at Phendrana's back – for all the side effects that had plagued his sudden transformation from mortal to shade Phendrana had been gifted with one priceless ability, and that was a keen edge to his already brilliant mind that was nothing less than awe-inspiring to witness.

The doppelganger's feet carried him forward surely and swiftly despite his lack of vision, and when he led the way from the Shadow Realm and back into the Material Plane Lamorak followed suit; when Phendrana opened his eyes he found he had brought them into the bowels of the grand melee chamber, where the Doubles Combat took place once every three lunar cycles. Unable to keep the grin from his face he glanced over his shoulder at Lamorak, to find that the prince was smiling back at him encouragingly.

"Most impressive," the Determinist Prime congratulated, and Phendrana's chest swelled with pride – it was the first time he had successfully shadow walked to a specific location without first losing his way. "Again, and quicker now… Let us say the observation platform of Villa Tareia, the grand balcony of the Palace Most High, and then back to my office in the guild."

The gleam in Phendrana's eye was a sure indicator that he was up to the task; he closed his eyes again, though Lamorak was certain he needn't have bothered, and they slipped back into the land of the shadow again. He moved quickly, so quickly that the Third Prince had to sacrifice a mote of his dignity and hurry to keep up, and in no time at all they were passing between dimensions again.

They landed effortlessly upon the observation platform; Phendrana opened his eyes briefly, glancing with a smirk at the stars winking through the veil of shadows surrounding the enclave's extreme boundaries, before shutting them again and shifting dimensions.

When their feet touched the balcony of the Palace Most High with its breathtaking view of all the city below them, Phendrana didn't even bother opening his eyes.

The moment they found themselves back in Lamorak's office in the Determinist's Guild the prince burst into laughter, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as Phendrana took his familiar seat in front of the desk. "Had I known you would be so receptive to such an unorthodox method, I might have mentioned it to you days ago and saved us valuable time!"

"Had I known it was possible to navigate the Plane of Shadow in such a way, I would have tried it myself and saved you the trouble," Phendrana chuckled. "Perhaps there is still hope that I might be a true shade after all."

Lamorak did not miss the note of melancholy with which Phendrana made this observation; he seated himself back in his comfortable high-backed desk chair and surveyed the doppelganger with sympathy in his eyes, wishing he knew what to say. He had been born the son of the High Prince of the very last city of the fabled Netherese Imperium – he had never known adversity such as this. He had watched Hadrhune and Soleil both struggle to adjust to foreign surroundings, but his expertise only extended that far. "We all experienced an adjustment period when we offered our souls up for shadow," he explained at last, "and that time varies in length from person to person. Perhaps yours is meant to be longer than all of ours because your powers are so great."

"Or it is because I am ill suited for this life after all," Phendrana supposed darkly, crossing his arms, and Lamorak's expression soured again in the face of the doppelganger's continued stubbornness.

"And I suppose you think we are all able to navigate the Realm of Shadow using only our minds?" he remarked sarcastically. "No, Phendrana, we must all travel with our eyes always open or risk losing our way and never returning – only you have accomplished such a feat. Mind of the Most High indeed." While Phendrana sat there with his gaze fixed upon the floor again Lamorak retrieved a different stack of documents, notes he had made on Phendrana's physical and mental state and observations he had taken while in the doppelganger's presence over the past several weeks; these he straightened meticulously before taking up his quill again and dipping the tip in the open inkwell near his elbow, and tapping off a droplet of excess ink he cleared his throat with an air of professionalism. "Now, Phendrana, tell me of your last twenty four hours. Have you been practicing your telekinesis?"

Prior to his transformation Phendrana had commanded an impressive capacity for all manner of magics that required mastery of the mind; he belonged to an elite few of the class of mindmaster, whose mental facilities enabled them to utilize spells from many different types of sorcery – the cerebrex, the mindspy, and the psionist had always been his favorites. Since becoming a shade he had discovered that his mental prowess had improved exponentially – one of his new abilities was the power of telekinesis, which he enjoyed using very much in everyday life. If Lux was being particularly surly about his studies Phendrana would simply glance at the book the poor Shadovar boy was holding and steal it from his grasp with a thought, and on the days when Lamorak was in a particularly good mood he would watch with amusement while the doppelganger rearranged every personal effect on his desk. In recent weeks Lamorak had been testing this ability, giving Phendrana a new weight class each time they met and asking the doppelganger to relocate it – how far could he move it? Could he keep it held aloft without effort, or did it put a strain on his mind? If he _could_ keep it aloft, how long before it fell to the ground? These lessons were among Phendrana's favorites, for they often involved a certain amount of mischief and this was a welcome distraction from all the ill that had befallen him since his return to the enclave.

"Yes," he told the Determinist Prime proudly, for his lesson earlier that day had yielded progress. "I was able to stack the books Lux brought me using only my telekinesis, and afterward I was able to transport the stack from the dining table to the desk and back several times."

Lamorak was scribbling furiously, his silver eyes darting across the parchment as he struck up a line of further questioning. "How far of a distance would you say it is from the table to the desk?"

Phendrana turned his gaze to the ceiling, considering. "Thirty feet? Thirty five?"

"And how many times did you transport the books to and from?"

"Sixteen." It was clear Phendrana had anticipated this question. "I may have done more, but I began to feel fatigued and Lux prompted me to stop."

"Good." Lamorak paused to dip his quill into the inkwell again. "The last time I reported upon your progress the Most High requested that you do not stretch your mind beyond the limits of its endurance until we have a better grasp on what you are capable of. Now tell me about the books. How many did you stack?"

"Nine. Any higher and the stack would have become precarious."

"Two higher than last time," Lamorak praised with a hard-won smile, and Phendrana felt pride swell within him again. If there was one thing he had learned in his dealings with the Third Prince, it was that Lamorak was not easily impressed – being the Determinist Prime he had witnessed firsthand the talents of every single shade the High Prince had ever produced, including his own brothers. "And how heavy would you say the books were?"

Phendrana sighed. He hadn't thought to weigh them, and in hindsight that seemed foolish indeed. "Two of them were almanacs. Four others were books on various eras in the Netherese Imperium penned by Second Prince Rivalen. The other three were some of Lux's favorite tales, all historical, and all lengthy."

"So quite heavy, then." Lamorak looked up. "You mentioned becoming fatigued. When you put the books down did they fall from the influence of your mind, or were you able to keep control and guide them to the place of your choosing?"

"I kept control." Phendrana recalled that moment most clearly, for he had been particularly pleased with it. "I guided the books back into Lux's arms, and when I was certain he was prepared to support them I wrenched my influence away."

Lamorak finished penning his musings in silence; Phendrana did not feel compelled to fill it, and he rarely did. He was grateful simply to be in another's company, and the opportunity to share his progress with someone was oddly liberating. When he had finished Lamorak laid the parchment aside to allow the ink to dry before selecting another; Phendrana could see that the Third Prince had given the document a title, but it was otherwise blank. A new lesson, perhaps? "I wonder if it is time we began to explore the possibility of levitation, as your telekinesis is advancing at a startling rate."

Phendrana blinked. "Levitation?"

The Third Prince tucked his quill behind one ear and propped his elbows upon the desk, steepling his fingers together and observing the doppelganger over his fingertips. "It is the next logical step where your telekinesis is concerned. I have produced some figures based on the rate of your progress and by my calculations you will be prying statues out of the fountain in The Circle and hurling them through the air before the week is out." Phendrana swallowed hard, momentarily intimidated by his own potential, but Lamorak pressed on as though nothing was amiss. "Your first lesson will be simple – just try to get your feet off the ground. I expect you to have something to report on that when we meet tomorrow."

Plucking the quill from behind his ear Lamorak fell upon his parchment again, notating all that they had discussed; Phendrana watched in silence as words covered the sheaf, worrying a further matter in his mind, but ever-perceptive Lamorak missed nothing – Phendrana occasionally wondered if the Third Prince possessed a certain mastery over the mind himself, but had never let on. "Why don't you tell me about the dreams. You've had one again, haven't you?"

The doppelganger's eyes dropped directly to the floor again, his silence speaking volumes; Lamorak dropped his quill again and sat up a little straighter, reading details from the unnerved expression that Phendrana now wore. The dreams had started a few weeks ago – he had carefully documented every word of Phendrana's testimonies concerning these unusual occurrences, listening rapturously, unable to keep himself from feeling fascinated by the progression of Phendrana's dreams. At first Phendrana had seemed morbidly entranced by them – Lamorak even had it on authority from Lux that the doppelganger often retired at a very early hour to pursue them – but the expression chiseled into his face now was not curiosity but open fear. He shuffled his documents judiciously, retrieving his notes on the progression of the dreams, and brought his quill to bear yet again.

The silence between them stretched with no sign of being broken, until Lamorak could bear it no more. "Is it the same?" he pressed gently, doing his best not to frighten the doppelganger. "The hallway, the fire flickering in the wall sconce, the dead guards?" When Phendrana nodded, he continued. "Are you still opening the door?"

Phendrana blanched. He had been all too eager to open the door at the end of the dark hallway before, but now that he knew what was on the other side he wished he never had. "Yes," he answered in a reserved voice, seeming smaller where he sat.

The quill scratched away at the surface of the parchment. "And do you still find yourself in someone's bedchamber?" The private quarters Phendrana inevitably found himself in were oddly familiar to Lamorak, with their somber décor, their spacious interior, and their magnificent canopied four-poster; he was almost certain he knew whose room it was, but he didn't want to put the thought into Phendrana's mind unbidden. In response to Phendrana's slight nod he prodded, "Is the man in the bed still sleeping?"

"Yes," Phendrana whispered in a tremulous voice, "but there is someone else in the room now that I didn't see before."

The quill fell from Lamorak's fingers – he snatched it back up almost immediately, but Phendrana had seen him falter and regarded him now with wide, fearful eyes. "Do you recognize this person?" Lamorak inquired diplomatically in an attempt to regain some of his composure, pressing the tip of the quill with excessive force against the parchment, and Phendrana shook his head.

"No – it is too dark in the room to be certain, but the eyes are unfamiliar to me." Phendrana's eyes were vacant and somehow haunted as he recalled. "Not the metallic colors of you and your brothers… The color of a well-cut garnet, magenta, or fuchsia. Never have I seen eyes of such a strange hue."

Lamorak's eyes were slits of silver moonlight within his shadow-swathed face. "Do you suspect this person was not a shade?"

The doppelganger nodded along fervently. "He was not cloaked in shadow and his hair was white as snow; he had a small blade in his hand that was luminous with some manner of foreign enchantment. It shone bright and cold as a star, but even by its light I could see little else of his face."

"Did he do anything?" Lamorak could feel his mouth going dry even as he spoke. "Did he speak?"

"He did not speak," Phendrana confirmed. "He acted as though I was not there, though I was standing at the slumbering man's bedside by that time – I suspect he could not see me, though I was hardly making an effort to conceal myself from him. He was… focused. His attention was not on me."

Something about the doppelganger's tone of voice sent a chill ripping almost violently down Lamorak's spine as he dutifully penned Phendrana's recollections; the moment he was caught up he glanced up from his work, entranced by the tale despite the thrill of trepidation racing through his veins. His own voice was oddly quiet, as though he was afraid someone might overhear despite the fact that they were alone. "What did he do, Phendrana?"

"He cut the throat of the man sleeping," Phendrana said in a rush, as though he couldn't keep the words from bursting forth any longer. Against his better judgment he stared the Determinist Prime in the eye and finished, "I believe it is the Most High who was killed in my dream. In fact, I am not certain these are dreams at all – they do not _feel_ as dreams often do. This is lifelike, prince. I can feel the chill upon my skin when I stand in the hallway. I can smell the blood pooled on the floor at my feet when I come across the guards. I can hear the creak of the door hinges when I enter the bedchamber. I can hear the High Prince breathing as he slumbers." Gathering the last shred of his courage he pressed onward, certain he was about to ruin any last semblance of credibility he still possessed, and said, "I believe these events will come to pass, and soon. I fear that the High Prince is in danger."

Numbly Lamorak replaced his quill, working to keep his face neutral. "Who else knows of this?"

"No one," Phendrana answered immediately. "I have not even told Lux of my dreams."

Lamorak knew that there was truth to the doppelganger's words – Lux had already confessed to as much. Besides, he trusted Phendrana – his service to the High Prince was selfless, his intentions were always pure, and he had no reason to lie. But what to do? Phendrana's mental state had been in question since his untimely transformation; despite the fact that his abilities grew exponentially stronger with each passing day it could hardly be said that his judgment was sound at this stage. His memories had returned to him in full, that much was true, but the physical trauma wrecked by the angel of decay and his resulting extensive restoration had left his mind flawed – that much could be evidenced by engaging the doppelganger in simple conversation. And what of these dreams? Were they delusions that Phendrana's mind had concocted as a kind of morbid coping mechanism? Were they the result of the doppelganger's too-active mind, with no basis in day-to-day life? Or were they something more, as Phendrana so emphatically insisted – glimpses of a dark future for all of Thultanthar? Was he paranoid, as High Prince Telamont had suspected from the outset, or was he prophetic as Lamorak had secretly come to believe?

Suspecting that his gaze had grown distant as he brooded Lamorak sat up a little straighter and focused upon Phendrana with effort; the doppelganger was still staring back at him with those unnervingly large eyes, and the Third Prince could feel his mental influence probing the air for clues. Lamorak could hardly fault him for that. It was only natural, he supposed, for Phendrana to crave answers to such disturbing events.

"I will speak with the High Prince on your behalf," Lamorak assured him at last, taking up his quill one last time and jotting down the last of his musings while he worked to regain the rest of his composure. When he felt that he had mastered himself he locked eyes with Phendrana again, a pang of sympathy radiating through his chest to see the lost and forlorn expression the mindmaster now wore. "In the meantime, I implore you – try not to concern yourself so much. I suspect much of the reason you find yourself plagued by such dreams is because of your heightened level of anxiety; few things in life affect our demeanors quite as much as the emotions we feel, and I daresay you have not felt at ease since before you departed the enclave in search of the armory beneath Castle Tethyr."

Phendrana's eyes fell upon his hands, which Lamorak was certain were twisting uncertainly in his lap. "I try," he admitted in a small voice, suddenly seeming more childlike than the Third Prince had ever seen him before, "but I confess… Between my isolation and the amount of questions with no answers I find myself left with, it is increasingly difficult to keep myself at ease."

The sympathy burned ever brighter within his chest – unconsciously Lamorak touched his fingers to his sternum, a crease forming in his brow, and in response to the doppelganger's questioning gaze he propelled himself out of his seat and beckoned Phendrana to do the same. "I will see what I can do to alleviate your concerns, and to convince the High Prince to re-integrate you into society. There is still much we do not know concerning your condition, it is true, but I see no reason why you should remain in seclusion. I suspect it would do much for your state of mind to walk among us again." When Phendrana drew closer Lamorak clapped one hand companionably down upon his shoulder, finishing, "The hour grows late, I fear, and I must pen the last of your recollections before I retire – you would do well to return to Villa Tareia and find some rest, for I suspect your attempts to master beginning levitation will cause you some fatigue on the morrow. We will talk tomorrow night, and in the meantime be assured that I will do all that I can for you."

Phendrana nodded, a wash of gratitude flooding through his chest, and even cracked a small smile. "Thank you, Prince. I know it is not my place to ask you for anything… I am grateful for your attentiveness."

"You are a great asset to our city," Lamorak reminded him. "I will continue to ensure that you are treated as such. Now go."

* * *

Upon returning to Villa Tareia he made himself stand outside that familiar door, glaring at the grooves in its expertly-hewn surface and silently cursing the man residing within. Phendrana had heard or seen nothing of Twelfth Prince Brennus Tanthul since the Most High had requested he remain in relative seclusion – all that he had gleaned was at Lux's expense, and the poor Shadovar boy was adverse to sharing very much on the subject.

"Have you seen him?" Phendrana had asked on one particularly uneventful day, when the book he had chosen to read had proven to be less than fascinating.

Lux had visibly blanched and kept his eyes carefully fixed upon the page he had been reading, though his eyes hardly moved. "No, I haven't."

"Come now, you are the head of housekeeping," Phendrana had reasoned, his voice disarming. "Surely you have glimpsed his face, or heard of his comings and goings in passing."

"I do not attend him," Lux had stammered uncomfortably, his fingers trembling slightly as he turned a page and continued fake-reading. "The kitchen staff brings him meals, but he requires nothing of me."

Phendrana hadn't believed this claim for a moment. "Nothing at all?"

"Nothing at all."

"Then what are you attending to when you are not gracing me with your presence?" the doppelganger had prodded dryly, his voice heavy with sarcasm, and Lux had heaved a sigh of defeat.

"Lord Phendrana, please – I see him little, for he prefers to be left alone. I hear nothing of his comings and goings, for his movements are even more restricted than your own. He is not permitted to leave his private quarters for any reason, and he is not welcome in the High Prince's court. Now please, I beg of you, question me no more. It is my only aspiration to serve you, and I am not at liberty to discuss these matters – I have said far too much already."

The panic in Lux's eyes had prompted Phendrana to hold his tongue, though from that day forward he had found he possessed more questions than before. Why was Brennus being confined? Why had he been banished from court? Was it on account of him, or had he committed some other offense? Phendrana couldn't help feeling responsible, which by then was a most unwelcome emotion. He didn't want to feel beholden to the Twelfth Prince in any way. He didn't want to feel sympathy for the youngest prince's situation. He had abandoned Phendrana in his time of greatest need, ignored his cries and scorned his affections – for all of these things, Phendrana was determined to hate him.

Yet still he stood there, memorizing the individual grains in the door, probing the space on the other side with his mental influence. He could feel Brennus's presence lingering quietly on the other side, steadfastly avoiding his own, and though Phendrana felt assured enough of his own abilities that he knew he could infiltrate the loremaster's mind if he so chose he decided against it. Nothing could be gained from seeking counsel from someone who wanted to be left to his own devices, he knew, though that did not stop him from imparting his own thoughts and opinions without expecting any sort of reply, verbal or otherwise.

 _Our predicaments are not as different as you may believe,_ he thought clearly, knowing that his intended recipient would hear well enough. _I do not presume to know what has happened to you, but still I confess myself disappointed. I would have thought you would sooner confide in me than keep your silence after all we have shared. Things are happening now that may have dire consequences for us all, and still you ignore my presence? What could I have possibly done to make you hate me so?_

He heard no words in reply, only emotions – guilt, anger, and regret foremost among these – but Phendrana did not allow himself to linger any longer. He knew that the more time he spent outside the prince's door the harder it would be to pry himself away from it in the end.

Lux was waiting for him when he opened the door to his private quarters, sitting in his familiar place on the floor with his back against the front of Phendrana's wide study desk and a book propped upon his crossed legs; he looked up expectantly when the doppelganger admitted himself, his green eyes wide and inquisitive as he slipped a bookmark between the pages and hastened to his feet. "Welcome back, Lord Phendrana – "

"Please," Phendrana interrupted wearily, pouring himself a glass of water from the carafe waiting on the dining table and taking a grateful swig, "do _not_ use such formalities in my presence. You know I am not fond of them."

"Forgive me," Lux apologized hurriedly. "Was your lesson with Prince Lamorak productive?"

"It was quite enlightening," Phendrana answered vaguely, kicking off his boots haphazardly just to the right of the door, and suddenly he was exhausted beyond measure. "I find that I am not feeling conversational – might we talk tomorrow? I need some time to myself."

Lux nodded thoughtfully, though he knew better than to pry – normally Phendrana was quite open and glad for company. Bending he retrieved his book and tucked it beneath his arm, saying, "Very well. I have not stoked a fire for you – should you like one before I retire?"

Phendrana was chilled all the way to the bone, but his desire for solitude outweighed his physical discomfort. "No, thank you."

"Then I will leave you," said Lux softly. "Good evening." And he dismissed himself without another word.

Phendrana found he hadn't the patience to build a fire in the hearth, and instead retreated to the washroom and filled the tub with water so hot he suspected it would scald his skin. It wasn't until he was soaking in the steaming bath that he allowed his head to droop and his mind to wander.

If he was prepared to be perfectly honest with himself, it was the lack of companionship that he so despised. He would serve the High Prince uncomplainingly and had resolved not to discuss his concerns for fear of seeming ungrateful, but he detested his isolation. The opportunity to further explore his budding capabilities was time well spent, and he enjoyed both his lessons with Prince Lamorak and his conversations with Lux, but he had entertained visions of what his life might be like when he became a shade and his designs had been nothing akin to the reality. He longed to move about as he pleased – attend council sessions again, study shadow magic at the College, train further in martial arts at the Hall – and he desired little more than to surround himself with people. In his seclusion he had few distractions – if he could only keep himself busy, he might have more success keeping his mind off Brennus.

He supposed this time had been useful in that regard – if Brennus no longer wanted anything to do with him, Phendrana thought it best if they did not see one another. He didn't think he could bear it if the loremaster spoke ill of him, or if the prince's bronze eyes regarded him with hatred. How might he react to be in his presence now that circumstances had so changed? Phendrana had no way of knowing for certain – his own mood was so mercurial that he could only speculate. Would he lash out as a lover scorned? Would he keep his silence and ignore the other man entirely, a means of safeguarding those shredded pieces of his heart? Would he dissolve into tears?

Not for the first time he wondered if Third Prince Lamorak might prove to be a friend when Phendrana eventually took up his seat upon the Most High's council or if their arrangement was strictly a business one. Lamorak had seemed almost detached when first they had started meeting for lessons but was now more relaxed and personable – though of course, he spoke little of court life and disclosed nothing personal. It would be good to see one friendly face when he returned – few things in court life were more vital than allies on any issue, and at the moment he felt as though he could depend on no one.

By that time the water had grown tepid so he freshened it, having not quite chased the chill off his skin, and this time when he lay his head back it was both his mind and his consciousness that wandered.

* * *

A gloved hand upon his shoulder roused him from Reverie, and he allowed his vision a moment to shift into the normal spectrum before he sat up. He had allowed himself to seek rest in the barracks of Bregan D'aerthe for the days' events had been most taxing; what now could anyone possibly need him for?

The pale green faerie fire that limned the corners of the ceiling cast enough illumination for him to make out the figure crouched over him – perpetually-hooded Xuntath Oblodra, whose unusual white eyes sent a chill coursing unbidden down his spine. The psionist sat back when he saw that he was coherent, and wasting no time his hands flashed in the near-darkness. _It is time._

 _Time?_ Mourntrin Auvryndar's fingers were uncharacteristically stiff as he walked them through his response – by the Gods, he was exhausted. _Time for what?_

Xuntath's eyes were speculative and alive with possibilities. _I have spoken with the Baenre priestess Quartana… It seems that perhaps she is not as delusional as we assumed. She sought me out, spoke to me with her mind. If she is to be believed, she has communed with the Spider Queen._

Mourn lurched upright, bringing himself eye level with his accomplice. _Has she now?_ He uttered a bemused chuckle, but softly, so as not to draw the attentions of any of their fellow slumbering mercenaries. _And what wisdom has the goddess bestowed upon her?_

 _That you shall be the first among us to test the diligence of Thultanthar._ Mourn opened his mouth, presumably to let loose a string of incredulous protests, but Xuntath's fingers flashed again insistently. _I am commanded to tell you to depart at once to the place where you and I spoke privately this afternoon. Bring only what you will require to complete the goddess' work, and speak to no one of your business._

 _And what am I expected to find there?_ Mourn pressed, a sneer of utmost skepticism quirking up one corner of his mouth.

 _Quartana assured me that the Spider Queen would provide._ The psionist slowed the movement of his hands, introspective now, and Mourn found that he was grateful for that. Xuntath wasn't particularly devout – Lolth had abandoned his once-great house and left him an orphan with an uncertain future – and to see him so suddenly beholden to their higher power was distinctly unnerving. _I know that you have your doubts – and with good reason, I feel – but are you not curious? The Baenre is convinced that she is about Lolth's work. Have you any idea what it will mean for us, her accomplices, if she is?_

 _And if she isn't?_ Mourn felt compelled to ask. _I am taking this risk, and not you. Will Lolth provide for me, a homeless, inconsequential male, as I journey away from this safe haven and into the den of our soon-to-be-nemeses alone?_

 _If she does not,_ Xuntath reminded sagely, _are you not capable of providing for yourself?_

That, at least, was logic Mourntrin Auvryndar could not deny. Yes, he was the sole survivor of his fallen house. Yes, he had braved the untold horrors that lurked within the Underdark. Yes, he was a man of undeniable prestige within an ancient and holy order. He would not fear the pompous archwizards of Netheril.

So he bid Xuntath Oblodra farewell and set out into the lightless tunnels of the Underdark alone, armed with his enchanted kukri and cloaked in the protection of his _piwafwi_. Whether by the will of some higher power or no, he was not accosted as he made his way through those treacherous corridors – indeed it seemed almost too quiet, too uneventful, as though something had spooked even the most hellish of creatures that normally dwelt within.

When he arrived in the chamber with the subterranean pool, blinking in the almost harsh light that the phosphorescent lichen emanated, he was surprised by what awaited him; hovering a few inches off the eerily still surface of the center of the lake was a shimmering white mist that Mourn was certain hadn't been there earlier in the day. Ever cautious, Mourn hovered in the wide yawning entrance to the chamber and studied the curious fog, pondering just what purpose it could serve. It wasn't a trick of the light coming off the lichen and it wasn't a reflection off the water's surface – was this what Quartana Baenre had meant when she had told Xuntath that the Spider Queen would provide?

He prowled through the cavern toward the water's edge, his steps light and soundless, and found that there seemed to be an opaque white sheen muddling the usually clear water; upon further inspection he found that it had actually iced over, and that it was just thick enough to bear his weight. He trod carefully across the lake on the frozen film, acutely aware of the dozens of tiny fissures that appeared upon its surface with every step he took and wondering if this was Quartana's way of testing his faith, until he had drawn level with the softly undulating white cloud. Pausing there, considering all that the mist might entail, Mourn began to believe.

He closed the distance, allowing the white mist to envelop him, and felt as though he was being spirited far away.

When next he became aware of his surroundings and the mist had cleared away, Mourn found himself standing in a sparsely-lit, vacant hallway he did not recognize; the floor was black marble adorned with a plush royal purple velvet carpet runner, extending the length of the corridor and disappearing around each bend, and black obsidian wall sconces burned deep violet magical flames at regular intervals. The walls were a generic off-white color with the illusion of grooves carved intricately into them; Mourn ran his hand appreciatively over the surface as he slunk closer to the nearest wall, flattening himself out defensively and listening. He was alone in enemy territory now – it would not do for him to be caught off guard.

As he peeked around the corner to his left he could just make out the nearly-motionless forms of four shades in battle raiment, standing two-to-a-side flanking a door that was the end of the hall, and as he stood there wondering what he was meant to do he felt a finger of icy chill seep into his mind, heralding the presence of an entity unknown.

 _Let it begin with their great monarch. Let us see how long their civilization lasts in the absence of the venerable Lord Shadow._

Mourntrin Auvryndar groped at his hip for the familiar hilt of his enchanted kukri, and when the voice of his goddess faded from his mind he found he knew without asking who was on the other side of the door.

* * *

Phendrana hadn't realized he'd nodded off until he jerked violently awake, uncertain just how much time had passed and momentarily confused as to where he was. The candle he had lit had burned down to the wick, and the water he'd drawn for his bath was cool enough that he trembled as his senses returned to him. With his left hand he groped for the towel he had dropped carelessly near the sunken edge of the porcelain tub, and with his right hand he cradled his face as his thoughts raced. It wasn't just the uncomfortable temperature of the water that had incited a chill upon his skin – his forehead was beaded with cold sweat and his hands shook uncontrollably, the aftereffects of something dark he had glimpsed while he slept but couldn't recall. The tighter he clung to the notion that there was something lingering on the edge of his awareness that was vital for him to remember the more intangible the idea became, until he was left with only the insistent intuitive urge that something was very, very wrong.

"Lux?" he called tentatively, but he bit back any other words he might have said almost immediately when he heard how that singular syllable hit the air; it was soft and muffled, as though something he couldn't see was preventing his voice from projecting any further than the room he was in, and the feeling of dread pooling in his stomach intensified. Hoisting himself out of the tub he wrapped the towel around his narrow waist and padded stealthily back into his private quarters, uncertain just what he was hiding from but knowing he would do well to keep quiet all the same.

The hour was late, but the bone-deep chill and the stomach-churning fear gripping him would make sleep impossible. Phendrana considered stoking a roaring fire to chase the cold from his extremities – and was struck with a crippling realization.

Somewhere in this very moment, the events of those dreams that had been plaguing him for weeks were beginning to unfold. He had no proof, no way to rationalize such a completely groundless theory, and yet the moment the notion presented itself Phendrana knew it to be true.

His body moved of its own accord as he flew about the room, wrestling into his luminous white-adamantine armor and groping for his belt of weapons. It occurred to him as he outfitted himself that he had not yet accepted a weapon from the High Prince's armory, customary of one befitting his station, and hoped against hope that the elven thinblade and kukri he possessed would be enough to thwart any threat that he might encounter. He paused only long enough to retrieve his favored magical effects – the silver circlet set with an enchanted jade stone, and a pair of rings he was seldom without – and then he was standing in the center of his private chambers without even an inkling of where to go next, or even what he meant to do.

For the first time Phendrana doubted himself, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he considered how best to proceed. He had been forbidden to come and go as he pleased by express command of Most High Telamont, and given the High Prince's uncanny ability to be privy to all that occurred within his domain the doppelganger wasn't foolish enough to believe even for a moment that his foray into the city would escape Telamont's notice. That being said, was it worth the risk to defy his sovereign knowing that there would inevitably be consequences for his actions? He didn't feel the High Prince was justified in keeping Phendrana confined for circumstances that were beyond his control, but did that really give Phendrana the right to release himself?

Fleetingly the mindmaster considered returning to the Determinists Guild and seeking out Third Prince Lamorak, who was surely still pondering one of the thousands of documents piled high upon his desk, but he dashed that idea almost immediately. Surely Lamorak would be opposed to Phendrana skulking around the enclave without permission, and if the encounter became confrontational Phendrana might miss his only opportunity to intervene. No, this time he had no one to rely upon but himself.

But where to go? What to do? Phendrana's intuition could be correct, but he had only the fragments of dreams and the sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach to guide his steps – and the longer he deliberated, the more likely it was that someone's life would end before he could arrive.

The answer struck him so suddenly that he exhaled sharply as though he had been physically struck. With a single lesson, Lamorak had changed Phendrana's entire perspective on shadow walking… If he were to stop seeking the destination with his eyes and use his mind to guide his steps, could it not lead him to the source of the disturbance? He knew that he was grasping desperately at straws, but it was his only hope; hesitantly, his fear of the potential repercussions warring with his desire to do good, Phendrana passed into a miniscule rift between dimensions and shifted into the Realm of Shadow.

He kept his eyes firmly closed, allowing his body to become acclimated with the perpetual silence of his unfamiliar surroundings and the soft, cool sensation of shadows caressing his skin – there would be plenty of time to train his eyes to distinguish one shadow from the next at a later date, he knew, and right now he couldn't shake the feeling that he had very little time to act. Phendrana reached deep into himself, focusing on the clearest images from his dreams and willing them into existence, concentrating on the dread clogging his veins like poison and hoping he could use it to guide his way. And abruptly his feet were moving, propelling him through the black void toward some unknown destination, and though he was unaware of it he parted crowds of lesser shadow creatures who did not dare impede his progress as he passed.

Sensing he had reached his desired destination before he glimpsed anything Phendrana returned to the Material Plane, and the sight that greeted him made his stomach roil with anger and revulsion.

He was standing in a hallway that was somehow familiar to him, despite the fact that he had never set foot within it until this very moment; the floor was black marble lined with black velvet, plush and elegant, with eggshell walls that seemed both pleasing to the eye yet somehow clinical. Purely on impulse he glanced up and to his right to where he knew there would be an obsidian wall sconce flickering with magical violet flames; the soft illumination distorted as he studied it, alternately flaring hotly and sputtering as though in danger of burning itself out, and the unpredictable undulations distorted his own shadow strangely at his feet. The chill that had settled upon his skin since even before his bath increased; instinctively he clenched his hands into fists in a futile attempt to warm his icy fingertips, but to no avail.

Feeling sick, knowing what he would find, Phendrana willed himself to look down and study the four twisted and mutilated bodies of the Shadovar guards that had been slaughtered outside of the ominous door standing just ten feet away; he took note of the death blows that had been dealt, identical slashes to the throat that were still bleeding gouts of shadow essence onto the black velvet carpet runner, and knew at once that he was dealing with no ordinary foe. Shades could be hurt, certainly, but a singular blow – even one considered fatal to mortal creatures – wouldn't be enough to kill them, for their accelerated regeneration often rendered such attacks altogether useless. Phendrana glanced all around, his ears pricked for any sound, but all was eerily silent. It meant that the guards had been taken completely at unawares, and that they hadn't likely been able to raise an alarm before they had been fallen upon. He suspected he hadn't the time to do so, either.

Carefully, so as not to disturb the scene, Phendrana stepped gingerly over the corpses of the collapsed guards and advanced upon the door he had seen in his dreams; it was expertly-hewn ebony, its craftsmanship as exquisite as it had seemed in the doppelganger's mind's eye, and he ran one hand gently along its surface almost reverently. It stood slightly ajar – as he had known it would be – and steeling himself for what he might find he eased it open and admitted himself.

The room was mostly dark, chambers that were spacious and lavish beyond measure, hinting at the identity of its occupant with its grandeur; a wide fireplace yawned in the center of the wall to his left, the last embers of a once-roaring fire shining crimson in the hearth, and the floors were carpeted in the royal hue of violet that the Netherese royal family were so found of. There was a grand floor-to-ceiling window at the opposite side of the room, black gossamer curtains rippling gently in the breeze rolling over the sweeping balcony on the other side, and not five yards from the curtain stood the great canopied four-poster bed Phendrana had glimpsed in his most recent dream. His eyes raked the bed but its occupant was still and wreathed in perpetual shadow; the doppelganger felt a knife of panic rip through his insides, terrified that he had been too late, but when he reached out with his mental influence he could feel the serene thought patterns that suggested the bed's occupant was only sleeping. That was not what concerned him.

What concerned him was the other set of mental patterns, a presence he was altogether unfamiliar with whose malicious intent was almost crippling.

Phendrana's eyes snapped up from the bed to the gently-wafting curtains, just as a dark figure drifted out of the clutches of the black gossamer; Phendrana couldn't make out his features, for the soft illumination creeping through the curtains cast his face in shadow, but the eyes within the intruder's face were a luminous shade of fuchsia. He stood over the canopied bed, transfixed by its slumbering occupant, and with a start Phendrana realized there was a sleek black blade with an ethereal blue sheen clutched in his hand.

The fuchsia-eyed stranger, oblivious to Phendrana's presence, held the blade aloft.

Something like an overprotective rage seared in the doppelganger's chest then, and unthinkingly he thrust one hand out in the attacker's direction; it was the first time since his transformation that Phendrana had acted in anger or with the intent to cause harm, and the effects almost frightened him. The pure telekinetic energy that pulsed from the palm of his hand didn't just force the intruder backward – it shredded the graceful canopy shrouding the great four-poster, it tore the black gossamer from the steel curtain rod and sent it rippling out the window on a breath of wind, it cracked the black marble balcony and splintered the ebony guardrail and drove the intruder back with such force that he shattered the cracked guardrail when he was thrown back against it, and subsequently bowled over the edge to fall toward the ground below.

He sensed movement on his left and cut his eyes to the bed, where its occupant had risen and stood now watching him, and Phendrana met his eyes only because he hadn't the capacity to look away. Perhaps High Prince Telamont read the severity of the situation in the doppelganger's face, or perhaps he even glimpsed Phendrana's innocence in the depths of his eyes – regardless the Most High asked no questions and made no move to restrain him, for which Phendrana was grateful. He knew that if the High Prince had commanded him to answer for his actions he would have stayed and done so, and the real guilty party would have ample time to escape.

As it was, Phendrana could only find the words to say, "With the greatest possible respect, I must go now and explain myself later."

Without pausing to await a reply he was off like a shot, sprinting the length of the bedchamber to the cracked marble balcony, and when he reached the splintered guardrail he leapt from the precipice without a thought for the consequences; behind him he thought he heard the High Prince call someone's name, but his attention was divided and the name escaped him. He was careening for the ground from the topmost landing of the Palace Most High, easily eight stories from the palace gardens below, and hadn't once considered how he might survive such a fall.

The answer came to him in the form of words Third Prince Lamorak had said just hours before: _"Just try to get your feet off the ground."_

Well, Phendrana thought smugly, mission accomplished.

His mind had little difficulty rationalizing the force he needed to slow his descent – really, in the end, it was a slight variation on the same telekinesis he had been honing for the past few weeks. The only difference he could see was that he was lifting _himself_ with the power of his own mind, rather than some other object. By that logic he simply pillowed his mental influence beneath his own feet, guiding his fall until his velocity slowed noticeably, and by the time he reached the ground he had only to step off the mental force pooled beneath him - and just like that he was setting foot upon the well-tended grass of the palace gardens.

Phendrana made a mental note to tell Lamorak that he had completed his lesson the next spare moment that presented itself, and then he was off and running.

The palace gardens, fortunately, were wide and spacious; most shrubberies were shorter than he and meticulously well-trimmed, and Phendrana knew that if the would-be assassin had chosen to linger here in hiding he would have very few places to do so. The most likely prospects were the great flowering trees to the rear of the palace, and the magnificent fountain that was the centerpiece of the rear-facing garden; he didn't dare enter the Shadow Realm to take up the pursuit and risk losing his quarry while he struggled to keep his bearings, and so he continued the pursuit on foot in the hopes that he could track the intruder using his mind.

Rounding the corner into the rear-facing gardens at a run Phendrana delved deep into his mind and thrust that focus away from himself, seeking the thought patterns of anyone nearby and hoping to use those thoughts to his advantage – it was lucky he did so in such a timely manner, for the act saved his life then.

He felt the threatening presence near at hand before he glimpsed its owner with his own eyes, and instinctively Phendrana twisted his body defensively; the obsidian dagger with the ghostly blue glow slashed out from within the shadows slanting down from one of the castle's great parapets, faster than the doppelganger had anticipated, and though he dodged aside he only succeeded in making the blow a glancing one. The cruel edge of the dagger severed cleanly through a dozen or more of the tightly-fitted adamantine links of his mail shirt and tore through the black flesh beneath, opening a wound half the length of his hand and bruising the ribs on the right side of his torso. Phendrana gritted his teeth and dug in his heels so as not to lose his balance, and whirling back he faced his opponent. Aside from the one-of-a-kind blade he bore and the unusual magenta hue of his eyes Phendrana found him to be entirely unextraordinary; he was clad in the garb of a commoner, high boots and breeches and jerkin and cowl, and though his face was as dark-skinned as a shade's not a single shadow clung to his body.

Curiosity outweighed good sense then, and cocking his head to one side he asked, "Who are you?"

The assassin's eyes narrowed as he considered whether or not to respond – then the faint shadow he cast along the ground elongated, solidified, and whatever answers Phendrana may have gleaned never came.

The shadow leapt from the ground and became the figure of a man with burning silver eyes that blazed from beneath the low-pulled cowl of his shroud, and with the uncanny reflexes honed by hundreds of years of stealthy assassinations Fourth Prince Aglarel nimbly dodged away from the intruder's instinctive strike; as he turned he drew his own weapon, a dagger whose blade flashed crimson in the light, and leapt back in, but to Phendrana's great surprise the stroke was met and turned. Aglarel quick-stepped forward, pressing the attack, but his opponent met him stride for stride and after the Fourth Prince's initial attack the advantage was lost. They traded blows at a furious pace, each movement so quick and so lethally executed that Phendrana could scarcely follow the battle with his own eyes, until with a resounding _clang_ the ghostly-blue knife dashed Aglarel's weapon from his fingers and sent it sailing harmlessly out of reach.

The intruder laughed exuberantly, brandishing his blade before him, and at last condescended to speak aloud. "You amuse me!" he called mockingly, circling Aglarel all while keeping Phendrana within his sights. "Is this all that the renowned Princes of Shade can offer up in resistance?"

Aglarel straightened, his ceremonial fangs flashing within his ebon-skinned face as he grinned, and reaching up reflexively he ran a hand down his face; ever-perceptive Phendrana did not miss the careless fingertip the prince traced along the small black amethyst pierced through the helix of his right ear, plainly visible with his cowl fluttering loosely about his shoulders, and he said, "You should know, boy, that the Princes of Shade are full of surprises."

Even as he spoke the threat his hand plunged down the front of his shroud, quick as a striking snake, and he retrieved a smaller blade no longer than his index finger; their assailant dropped briefly into a defensive crouch before shooting forward, preparing to bowl Aglarel over with his momentum, but the Fourth Prince simply tossed the blade into the air past their attacker. He was unarmed as the would-be assassin fell upon him, the ethereal glow of the obsidian blade flashing ominously as he wielded it before him, and Phendrana seized hold of his mental powers and prepared a strike –

The intruder's shadow darkened and sprung into yet another figure, and the moment Aveil Arthien's body solidified she stretched her arm out and caught the blade Aglarel had flung skyward; she stabbed forward with the glittering bit of steel, sinking it into the flesh of their opponent's right shoulder blade and grinning with a kind of macabre satisfaction when he cried out. Their attacker's right arm uncoiled as he slammed his elbow mercilessly into Aglarel's face – Phendrana thought he heard the crack of bone – before whirling back to face Aveil; putting out her free hand she summoned an ornate black staff that Phendrana hadn't seen before, brandishing it in front of her defensively as he stalked forward, but behind her there emitted a blinding white flash that faded into a swirling white mist and hovered expectantly a few inches above the ground, drawing all their attentions.

Recognition dawned in the man's fuchsia eyes as they alighted upon the unexplainable phenomena, and bursting into motion he shoved past Aveil and hurled himself headlong toward it. Though she was off-balance Aveil still managed to launch a bolt of freezing lightning at his back; with impressive reflexes the intruder sprang to one side, amazingly fleet-footed, and though the bolt struck the ground at his feet he hardly slowed. Aveil cursed aloud and gave chase, hurtling after their quarry, her violet eyes on fire within her alabaster face –

"No!" barked Aglarel, his voice a whip crack, and the moment Aveil stopped in her tracks the assassin flung himself into the swirling white fog and vanished into thin air.


	6. Division

The gently-undulating mist deposited him none-too-gently upon the floor of the audience chamber within House Baenre, and Mourn had barely begun to adjust to the unpleasant feeling of vertigo brought on by leaping into the portal before something struck the back of his head and his vision exploded into stars. He slumped forward, gasping for breath, the marble underfoot cool and reassuring against his forehead, but whatever struck him dug cruelly into the wound the sorceress had inflicted upon his back and he knew he wouldn't be given a reprieve anytime soon. With a great effort he rolled onto his back, ignoring the stab of pain from his shoulder blade and it bore some of his weight, and glared blearily up into the eyes of Quartana Baenre.

"You useless male!" she shrieked, and Mourn didn't notice the twisting scourge of animate vipers clenched in her hand until they were lashing toward him; the fangs of the vipers bit deep into his upper left arm and torso, but did not release their potent killing venom into his veins as they tore at his flesh. That was something, Mourn reminded himself. That meant that no matter how furious the Baenre priestess was, she had use for him yet. "How could you _fail_ in your mission?! The Spider Queen presented to you a golden opportunity to eliminate one of the most powerful monarchs in all the Realms, and you _squandered it_!"

Those words forced a dozen protests to his lips, but Mourn hadn't survived this long without learning to rein in his anger toward the wrathful females of the drow species; he bit his argument back and opted for a more diplomatic approach. "Someone intervened on Lord Shadow's behalf."

" _Liar_!" The scourge of vipers cracked forward again, responding in kind to their owner's ire. "I _saw_ it! I saw you standing over the High Prince's bed – I watched you murder him while he slept! There was no one else – the goddess's visions cannot be misconstrued! I know what I saw!"

"Did you see the other shade?" Mourn snapped impulsively, wondering for the first time if the Spider Queen had been imparting false prophecies for sport – stranger things had happened after all, and was their deity not one who delighted in chaos and disorder? "The one with the telekinetic powers?"

Quartana's eyes were no less unforgiving, but she did retract her scourge arm and soothe the vipers with a wayward hand as she surveyed him forbiddingly. "There was no such shade. When I communed with the goddess, Lord Shadow was alone."

Mourn shrugged, ignoring the dull pain in his shoulder blade and the sharper pangs of agony in his left arm and torso. "I assure you, Priestess, Lord Shadow has better security than you originally anticipated. I made short work of the guards, but that one… I wasn't even aware of his presence. He came upon me without warning, and his mental prowess… I wonder if even the Oblodra…"

"The Abyss take the Oblodra," Quartana hissed, the muscles in her arm coiling for another strike, but she thought better of assaulting him further. "You are dismissed, for now. I would kill you for your insubordination as well as your failure, but that decision does not rest with me – the goddess has some design for you, and I dare not question her will. Remove yourself from my sight. I will call again when I have need of you."

Mourn didn't need telling twice; scrambling to his feet he departed the audience hall with all the speed he could muster without sacrificing his dignity, seething at the priestess's treatment and replaying the night's events over and over in his mind. He wanted nothing more than to dress his wounds and sleep uninterrupted for a time, but his foray into Thultanthar had left him with more questions than answers and he knew he would be better serving seeking counsel while the events were still fresh in his mind. He hadn't be exaggerating when he told Quartana that he doubted even the once-great House Oblodra, masters in the rare art of mind magic called psionics, would be able to combat that silver-eyed shade and his astounding powers of the mind.

And if Lolth hadn't predicted that shade's presence, what did it mean for their campaign? Lolth had employed Quartana Baenre to carry out her will and to glimpse fragments of the future to come… Could it be that the goddess Shar had done the same?

* * *

The moment the would-be assassin disappeared Aveil turned wrathfully on her heel and stalked right up to Fourth Prince Aglarel, who was inspecting his slowly-healing nose with careful fingers to ensure the bone knitted itself properly. "'No'?!" she growled. "I could have caught him, and you say _no_?! There has been an attempt on the High Prince's life, and now we must come before him to admit that the culprit has escaped us!" The anger was leeching itself out of her voice at an alarming rate, so that by the time she finished fear had replaced it. "I will be blamed for this!"

Phendrana half expected the Fourth Prince to laugh in her face, or to reply dismissively and without remorse – instead Aglarel dropped his hand from his nose, which seemed to have mended itself perfectly, and blew a sigh of frustration. "The fault is mine, for it was my judgment that stopped you. I will inform the Most High of this."

Evidently that wasn't good enough for Aveil. "But why – "

"Because, you fool, that portal might have led _anywhere_!" Aglarel roared in a sudden fury, and both Aveil and Phendrana flinched away from him. "I meant to safeguard you, wretched creature that you are – the High Prince is not in the habit of allowing his advisors to throw their lives away needlessly, which is surely what you would have done had you followed. You would accomplish nothing. We must _think_." Suddenly it seemed that Aglarel remembered Phendrana's presence, and the moment he snapped his eyes upon the doppelganger Phendrana found the prince's thoughts indelibly shrouded from his prying mind; Aglarel's gaze was so probing that Phendrana swore for a moment the prince's eyes were scalding his skin.

"Well," Aglarel said at length, tugging his cowl back into place before crossing his arms over his chest, continuing to survey the doppelganger judiciously. "This explains a few things."

Aveil was diligently prowling the lawn, retrieving first the Fourth Prince's crimson knife and then the bloodied steel blade she had used to strike at their enemy; Phendrana's eyes slipped momentarily to the ruby droplets staining the grass, somehow mortified by the sight, before flitting back up in time to watch Aglarel accept both weapons from her and stow them away within his shroud without a word. Phendrana found himself wondering at their unlikely partnership, which seemed formal yet somehow easy, natural; Aveil's eyes raked his relatively new shade body, coolly assessing, commanding his attention. "Now we know why he has been conveniently absent from council."

"Indeed," Aglarel agreed, and his soft laughter made Phendrana's skin crawl with discomfort. "I suspect the High Prince had nothing at all to do with your transformation, did he? Tell me – what have you and my dear brother Brennus been doing behind closed doors?"

Phendrana opened his mouth hotly to – what? Defend himself? Defend Brennus, the man who had utterly forsaken him in his time of greatest need? Thankfully he was saved from saying something rather ill advised when his shadow grew darker, heralding the approach of yet another shade, and Phendrana breathed a sigh of relief when Third Prince Lamorak solidified beside him looking puzzled.

"What has happened here?" asked the Determinist Prime, his eyes sweeping over Aglarel and Aveil before alighting upon Phendrana, his eyebrows raised. "The High Prince summoned me… he sounded distinctly unnerved…" Comprehension dawned and suddenly Lamorak's face did not seem at all friendly; quite the contrary he seemed both exasperated and at a loss when he said, "Phendrana, what have you done?! You know that the High Prince gave you specific orders not to allow yourself to be seen in public!"

"Oh did he now?" Aglarel mused beneath his breath, intrigue flashing in his eyes, but Lamorak chose to ignore him.

" _What are you doing here_?!" the Third Prince thundered at last, and Phendrana quailed in the face of his anger.

"He is not to be questioned!" shouted another voice, and the four of them whirled and craned their heads to regard the speaker – First Prince Escanor, the eldest of Most High Telamont's sons and the authority among the Twelve Princes of Shade when their sovereign was not present, was standing at the railing of the lower balcony on the third floor overlooking the rear-facing garden, flanked on his right by his fiancée, the High Prince's mountebank Soleil Chemaut. Escanor as always was tall and regal, favoring his father in both physical appearance and mannerism, and it was clear by his expression that his word was not to be questioned now. "By the High Prince's own words, Phendrana saved his life. We will convene the Shadow Council now to discuss what has happened here this night."

Lamorak was at a loss. "The hour is late, brother. The city sleeps."

"The Most High has decreed that these matters will not wait until the morning," Escanor insisted, "and his word is not open for debate. We meet now."

It was clear by the dumbfounded expression Lamorak wore that he had something to add he did not wish to discuss openly, but in the end he had no choice; lifting his eyes to Escanor's as though seeking some secret wisdom he asked, "All of us?"

Escanor nodded, and he seemed troubled now as well. "You may go to Villa Tareia and inform Brennus that the Most High has insisted he attend – I suspect he will agree most readily." Lamorak spared Phendrana one last fleeting look of genuine concern before dissolving into a shower of shadow particles; Phendrana's questions increased exponentially, but Escanor's voice pierced through his thoughts. "Aglarel, join us when you are able. Sceptrana, your seat has been prepared for you." The doppelganger hadn't a clue what this could mean until Aveil nodded meaningfully, and even then Phendrana felt he had more inquiries to make than before. At last Escanor's eyes settled upon him, curious and somehow sympathetic, and he finished, "Phendrana, the High Prince has requested your presence. He is in his private audience chamber awaiting your arrival – do tell him that I am summoning the Shadow Council, if you would be so kind."

"I will," Phendrana replied clumsily, feeling more out of place than ever before, and though he felt he would much rather have gone to meet the High Prince on foot he stubbornly decided to shadow walk the distance so as not to appear weak in the presence of his sovereign's advisors. Escanor had already turned his back and disappeared into the palace but Soleil lingered at the guardrail for a moment, long enough to offer Phendrana a kind of sad smile before following along in the First Prince's wake.

Phendrana hadn't quite shifted into the Shadow Realm when Fourth Prince Aglarel murmured words that he clearly meant for only Aveil's ears: "You are my eyes and my ears – I expect you will miss nothing in my absence. Watch Brennus. Watch the doppelganger. But above all else, watch the drow. Do not fail me in this." And then he was alone in the lightless plane of ever-shifting shadows, where he took what felt like his first real breath in hours.

A lesser man might have felt overwhelmed by all that had just transpired, but with his mind feeling keener than ever before Phendrana simply began sifting efficiently through all of his newly acquired information as he made his way forward, allowing his attunement to the High Prince's familiar presence to serve as the beacon that led him through the dark. If the High Prince was insisting upon Brennus's presence, might that mean that Phendrana wasn't the only one who had been in isolation since their return from Castle Tethyr? Given their circumstances were drastically different, did that mean the Twelfth Prince had been banished from court until further notice? Was he in danger? The High Prince had seemed understanding when he had received them – had all that been an act for Phendrana's benefit, a clever means to keep him from asking too many uninvited questions? Briefly the mindmaster considered confronting the Most High, but decided against such a course of action almost immediately. If Brennus had fallen from the High Prince's favor, further inquiries would likely only make his situation worse – Phendrana cared little for the youngest prince at the moment, but he did not wish him ill.

The unlikely companionship that had struck up between Fourth Prince Aglarel and Aveil Arthien was perhaps even more unsettling – as far as Phendrana was aware Aveil was a temptress and a compulsive liar, and these primary characteristics of hers made her ill suited to have strong ties with anyone among the High Prince's court, Aglarel foremost among them. Their interactions suggested that tonight's events weren't an isolated incident – no, they had worked together before, Phendrana was certain, and on more than one occasion. What had prompted such an alliance? When had Aveil risen through the ranks and into the High Prince's favor? He noted the term _Sceptrana_ , a little-used title ancient civilizations bestowed upon one whom they wished to be known as a master of the arcane, of sorts – a lofty title for both a non-Shadovar and an enemy of Thultanthar, wasn't it? Though perhaps her elevation was circumstantial – the High Prince might be keeping Aglarel close to Aveil's side for reasons of his own. She could be under surveillance. She could be in possession of certain sensitive information that Aglarel was coercing her into giving up of her own accord. Or her talents for deception and manipulation were far more impressive than anyone had anticipated, and she was in complete control after all. The thought made Phendrana fear not just for Fourth Prince Aglarel, but for all of Thultanthar as well.

But there was one thing that Aglarel had mentioned that Phendrana simply couldn't rationalize on his own – he had wanted Brennus watched, he had wanted Phendrana watched, and he had mentioned a drow. Who could he have been referring to? The only dark elf Phendrana had heard tell of in all his time within the City of Shade was the abhorred lichdrow Lim Tal'eyve, who had once been the Anointed Blade of the Jaezred Chaulssin and then razed the Bloodstone Lands with the gift of undeath, but surely Aglarel couldn't mean _him_? Phendrana had never known Lim Tal'eyve, but he knew _of_ him – everyone did, for he had reshaped Faerun so completely in his relatively short lifespan – and he knew that to forge an alliance with that one was folly. One did not stay on friendly terms with Lim Tal'eyve for long – the moment a person's usefulness had run its course, that person could be expected to stop breathing.

The rift his feet had led him to while he had been lost in his musings hovered at eye level now, a curious tear in the fabric between dimensions that often seemed to be little more than a black thread suspended in the air; Phendrana moved for it now, sensing his sovereign waiting restlessly on the other side, keen for both social interaction and answers to the dozens of questions he had compiled over the course of nearly two months.

Abruptly he felt tired, an exhaustion that seeped into his very bones, and his torso throbbed from where the assassin's unusual blade had bitten into his flesh; all he wanted to do was sleep, but he did his best to shrug the fatigue out of his muscles. It would not do to keep the High Prince waiting.

As Escanor had suggested Telamont was alone in the private audience hall when Phendrana melted out of the shadows that lined the furthest edges of the chamber; Phendrana had expected to find his sovereign pacing to-and-fro near the steps leading to the dias upon which his throne sat or consulting the world window, but instead he was standing perfectly still upon the bottommost stair. Not for the first time the doppelganger wondered if the Most High was omniscient in all things; though the thought left him feeling distinctly unnerved he approached, moving very slowly, each movement more sluggish than the last. Telamont's troubled expression softened with every step he took, and by the time Phendrana was standing before him the High Prince's eyes were wide with concern.

"F-First Prince Escanor is s-summoning the Shadow Council," he stammered uneasily, and only then did Phendrana lay his hand upon the wound he had sustained to find that not only had it failed to regenerate but the laceration was seeping shadow essence at an alarming rate.

The strength left him and his knees buckled, but the High Prince's hands darted out and grasped him by the upper arms, keeping him aloft; Phendrana's head lolled and his vision swam, as all the while the wound grew hotter and more painful. He turned in midair until he was cushioned upon some unseen force – the High Prince's ancient magic, he assumed dully – and with unprecedented care the Most High inspected the weeping laceration with light touches of his fingertips.

"You are bleeding, Phendrana." Telamont's voice was mild, as gentle as his fingertips, for which Phendrana was exceedingly grateful. "How did you come by this wound?"

"The assassin." Though the words he spoke were simple they were heavy upon his tongue and slow to leave his lips; Phendrana couldn't help feeling incensed. Such a superficial wound would have scarcely bothered him had he still possessed his mortal body – was his shade form so badly flawed that he would no longer be able to hold his own in combat? "A knife… it cut through… my armor…"

"I see that." The High Prince laid his index finger lengthwise along the wound – which by now felt as though it was on fire – and a blessed cool sensation spread along the torn edges of Phendrana's ruined flesh, slowly deadening the pain until it was pleasantly numb. It was quiet for a few minutes longer as Telamont lifted his free hand and conjured a tightly-knit silver dressing in a shower of glittering stardust; Phendrana watched blearily as his sovereign applied it to the wound upon his torso, fascinated by the way the dressing seemed to mold itself to the shape of the laceration. The feeling of perpetual exhaustion still lingered within Phendrana's extremities but the pain had subsided now, and he was grateful for that.

"What is it?" the doppelganger managed to articulate, a little more alert now.

Telamont dropped his hands. "The dressing? It is moon ivy – unconventional artisans will sometimes fashion armor out of it, for it molds easily to any wearer and is surprisingly durable in all conditions, but we have found through extensive study that it possesses astounding medicinal uses where our usual shadowsilk will not suffice. The wound that was inflicted upon you was done with a weapon constructed of starmetal – very rare, and potentially deadly even to shades. The material is such that even extraplanar creatures cannot withstand mortal wounds from a weapon of its construction, and even a superficial blow such as this one can kill one of our kind if it is not tended in a timely manner. It is good that I chose to see you prior to our meeting – even Rivalen is not learned in the proper treatment of such wounds, and he would have been little help to you. Should you like to stand?"

Phendrana nodded, for he felt strong enough to support his weight now and the moon ivy dressing was continuously spreading its pleasant cool throughout his body; the effects of Telamont's magic slowly expired, until the doppelganger came down lightly upon his feet and they stood facing one another again. He wisely bowed before his sovereign, saying, "High Prince, it is an honor to find myself in your presence again – though of course I wish the circumstances were far different."

"Indeed," Telamont agreed, and for a moment he appeared every bit the thousands-years-old being that he truly was – he was so wise, so venerable, that Phendrana often forgot that he had seen the dawn and twilight of ages past, ages that the doppelganger had only read of in ancient history books. "The honor is mine, Phendrana, and for my part allow me to sincerely apologize for your plight. Your isolation has been my doing – I felt it necessary to keep you from the public while Lamorak assessed your condition, and of course there is the matter of your… shall we say, _premature_ transformation… to attend to. I fear that my decisions have not been of benefit to your mental state."

Phendrana bit back his questions with difficulty. The High Prince was not in the habit of divulging his motivations to anyone, much less seeking forgiveness for any of his actions – to dishonor his words with inquiries would be rather ill advised. Instead the doppelganger said, "I have been kept busy. There are many books to read, and my mind to train… Prince Lamorak has graciously helped me adjust to this new way of life. It is far more than I deserve."

"I'm not sure I would agree with that," said Telamont with the ghost of a smile, "and I would like to discuss your lessons with my son, but now would seem a poor time for that. You must know that several of my sons are calling for your arrest, and for your death."

"What?!" This news caught Phendrana so off guard that he felt as though he had been physically struck. "On what grounds?! High Prince, I can assure you, I have done nothing that could warrant – "

His protests were unceremoniously derailed in the next moment, for Telamont had enveloped him in his arms; Phendrana felt awed by the great strength he felt slumbering in the High Prince's extremities for physically he appeared far more frail than his sons, so much so that it was difficult at times to remember that he was the strongest of all of them. The doppelganger's arms hung limply at his sides as he was embraced, the moon ivy dressing upon his torso still imparting its comforting cooling sensation, and gradually his anxiety dissolved and he felt serene, peaceful. Only then did his sovereign speak. "Dear one, I know all that you would say, for they are the words that I would speak on your behalf. How cruel a thing it is to be misjudged for your actions, to be looked upon with suspicion and hostility when you are possessed only of the desire to do good. I know that we have nothing to fear from you, but I know also of the dreams which have been afflicting you."

"How – " Phendrana broke in defensively, but then he calmed. "Prince Lamorak."

"Of course – who else? He has been monitoring your mental state with commendable vigilance. Now – I am aware of all you have seen, and I know you appeared uninvited in my bedchamber with the blood of my personal bodyguards staining your boots not because you conspired to eliminate me, but because you somehow _saw_ the fate that was in store for me and took the necessary steps to thwart it. You will be rewarded in short order for your valorous deeds, but not all within the city will look kindly upon your involvement – even after I have spoken on your behalf, and you have had ample opportunity to defend yourself. I accept your dreams and your visions – your mind is sharper than any blade and its capabilities, from all that we have seen, are thus far limitless – but I do not understand _why_ you are having them."

It was a moment longer before Phendrana realized that he was being asked to explain himself, and he wriggled out of the High Prince's arms so that they could look one another in the eye. Telamont's eyes were windows into his soul, understanding and sympathetic and somehow ancient in their sadness; when he looked into them, Phendrana felt that whole universes were contained within their depths. "I cannot say for certain why I am having them. I had never had a dream such as these prior to my transformation, but they began plaguing my mind in my sleep thereafter and have continued to do so for two fortnights or more. I assumed they were merely a manifestation of my own insecurities and anxieties – I could never have guessed that they would be… well…"

"Prophetic?" Telamont supplied helpfully, and Phendrana was grateful he hadn't had to say the word aloud – even coming from the mouth of his sovereign it seemed an utterly ludicrous notion. "I daresay there is no way you could have known… Though I find myself grateful, for obvious reasons." He offered Phendrana a wry smile that the doppelganger reluctantly returned before saying, "You should find yourself to the council chamber now; yours is the voice that everyone will be anxious to hear, and the longer they are made to wait the more ruthless they will be. I will join you shortly – I have another matter to attend to first."

Phendrana nodded his understanding and made for the great double doors leading out of the private audience chamber and into the main hall, his mind buzzing with new information and unanswered questions, and stopped dead in front of the door that would take him into the council chamber. Even with the door closed he could hear a cacophony of voices raised in uproar, familiar voices engaged in a bitter dispute, and couldn't help but dread what awaited him within as he laid his slightly-trembling hand upon the doorknob. Some of these men, noble descendants of an ancient king whom he had sworn to protect with his life, would soon be calling for his imprisonment and perhaps even the end of his life – how could he possibly face them? How could he open himself to their severe criticism and their misplaced ridicule, when all he was guilty of was fulfilling his pledge to serve the Most High in all things?

 _You are Phendrana, soon to be the Mind of the Most High_ , a small yet courageous voice from somewhere deep within his subconscious told him. _You are appointed the High Prince's advisor, and his authority on all sects of mind magic. You are not their inferior, and you have every right to defend yourself. The High Prince himself will defend you. He is assured of your innocence._

The words sounded stoic and full of conviction in his head, but with his fingertips still shaking as he turned the doorknob to admit himself Phendrana privately acknowledged the fact that he felt more ill than brave.

He had only a brief glimpse of a handful of shadow-swathed figures with jewel-bright eyes in a menagerie of shining hues grouped around the council table before the first one moved threateningly in his direction; standing awkwardly in the doorway with one hand still lingering upon the doorknob, Phendrana was ill prepared to retaliate. Fortunately he needn't have bothered; the glittering black glass katana was parried well before it reached Phendrana by the diamond-edged blade of a falchion, sparks flying so near to the doppelganger's face that he flinched back, and then Tenth Prince Rapha had raised his voice to a roar.

"I grow weary of your insubordination, woman!"

Soleil shifted her weight slightly, her slender legs coiled and ready to strike again as she lifted her falchion defensively; Phendrana had always been fond of the mountebank, but had never been so grateful for her support as he was now. " _My_ insubordination?!" she spoke up bravely, hardly intimidated by the fact that even the smallest of the High Prince's sons stood at least a head taller than she did. "Did the Most High not state that Phendrana was not to be harmed?! Yet he has only just joined us and you would attack him without giving him even an opportunity to speak up and defend himself! Have you no sense of honor?! What would the High Prince say, were he present to witness such behavior?!"

"You do not speak for our father!" bellowed another voice – Sixth Prince Yder, who had already vacated his seat and was stalking up to Rapha's left side with one hand hovering threateningly near the handle of the chakra belted to his hip. "The doppelganger was present when the assassination attempt took place – we have only his word that he was there defending the High Prince, and nothing else!"

Phendrana opened his mouth, preparing to launch a vicious tirade in his own defense, but was interrupted when First Prince Escanor stepped up to his side and laid a comforting hand upon his shoulder, saying, "And what reason do you have to doubt his word? Is he not a member of this esteemed council, the same as you? Does his title Mind of the Most High mean so little to you?"

"An empty title!" Second Prince Rivalen barked with a laugh, seeming hardly concerned with the squabble from where he sat slumped in his customary position to the direct left of the High Prince's chair, arms crossed adamantly over his chest. "The High Prince also intended to name him a Hero of Thultanthar, as I recall, yet neither accolade has yet been bestowed upon him. And why is that? Do you not think the High Prince would not have rewarded such a faithful advisor, were he utterly convinced of his loyalty? It seems to me that Phendrana would have attained all that the High Prince has promised by now if the Most High was indeed assured that he did not have some ulterior motive."

"Are you accusing him of having a hand in this treacherous plot?" asked Fifth Prince Clariburnus in a quiet, deadly undertone; Phendrana hadn't noticed the prince had circled to his back until that precise moment.

"Have you some irrefutable proof he does not?" countered the amber-eyed seneschal Hadrhune.

"His encounter with the true assassin came to blows." Phendrana blinked once in surprise and turned his head, shocked to find that Aveil Arthien had come to his aid; she had taken her feet across the table and was facing Hadrhune with cool diplomacy in her eyes, and the High Prince's shadow sorcerer regarded her in turn with something that could only be bitter hatred etched into his features. "Fourth Prince Aglarel and I both witnessed as much before the assassin made his escape – I am certain he will attest to as much when he arrives. Forgive me, my great lords, but it seems to me that arguing over this matter is foolish."

"And it seems to me that you would be better served leaving these matters to your betters," Rapha shot back, and more than one head nodded along in agreement. "Who are you to speak on Aglarel's behalf?"

Aveil simply shrugged, seeming impervious to the ever-volatile temperament of the hexblade, and nonchalantly tucked a stray strand of severe black hair behind her left ear; Phendrana's eyes lit upon the glittering black amethyst pierced through the helix of her ear, identical to the one he had glimpsed the Fourth Prince wearing in the heat of battle, and thought that explained how she had so easily located them in their time of great need. "I am commanded to serve as his eyes and ears," she responded in a detached voice. "I only do his bidding. Were he here, I am certain he would call such squabbles foolish also. Would we not be better served determining amongst ourselves who might have the audacity to attempt the murder of the High Prince, and how the assassin was able to enter and escape the enclave without being ensnared by the wards that protect the city?"

"Well said, Sceptrana," said Third Prince Lamorak as he stepped smoothly out of his own shadow beside his seat at the long council table. "Our priority, as always, is to serve the High Prince." He looked to Escanor then, whose seat was directly to the left of his own, and offered, "Shall we begin?"

The First Prince's eyes fell upon the empty chair between Rapha and Soleil, a question in their coppery depths, but another shadow sprung up near Lamorak's left flank and he left the words unspoken; Phendrana watched the shadow solidify and take shape as rapturously as those gathered around him, feeling very much as though his heart was lodged in his throat though he knew that organ had died the moment he had taken the shadow essence into his body, and quite before he had composed himself the Twelfth Prince had appeared among them in a shower of shadow particles.

To say that Brennus appeared precisely the same yet much changed would not be far off the mark – outwardly there was nothing to suggest that he was anything other than his usual soft-spoken, genial, polite self, but Phendrana swore he could _feel_ the difference in the aura surrounding the youngest of the High Prince's sons. There was a quiet hostility lingering about the corners of his bronze eyes, which were hard as stone and contained not a trace of the inviting liquid quality Phendrana had once enjoyed, and the walls he had built around himself were present in the black thought patterns Phendrana could detect emanating from him. He met the inquisitive – and in some cases openly questioning – stares of those gathered with an uncharacteristic coldness, and without so much as casting a glance in Phendrana's direction he slipped through their congregation and took his seat without a word.

The single shred of hope Phendrana had worked so hard to keep from blooming within his chest suddenly became a leaden weight that could not be ignored, and as those gathered around him moved to take up their seats he hastened to do the same. Only when he had reached the seat on Hadrhune's right side did he realize that there was a seat on his other side that he couldn't recall being filled before today, and with a start he recognized its occupant.

Once, several months ago, Brennus had come to Phendrana in Manifest and begged for his assistance in saving Hadrhune's life; the seneschal had been charged with Aveil's protection, and had nearly died when his encounter with the wraith form of Lim Tal'eyve had come to blows. When Phendrana had come upon the shadow sorcerer, bolted down to a table and screaming incoherently as particles of molten shadow ravaged his internal organs, he had glimpsed Hadrhune's true face for a brief moment – and the telling, pointed tips of the elf ears his hood always hid. He had never addressed this anomaly for he knew to do so would be overstepping his bounds, but in the back of his mind he had come to quietly admire the High Prince's favored shadow sorcerer. Though his true identity remained shrouded in mystery Phendrana knew him for what he truly was, and that was a man who had not been born into the power and prestige of the Tanthul family yet had still attained great privilege and respect. It was all that Phendrana himself strove to achieve daily.

He couldn't help but recall that moment when he looked upon Lim Tal'eyve, sitting in his seat at the far end of the left side of the table seeming relaxed yet attentive, whose physical appearance and general demeanor made him something of Hadrhune's twin in Phendrana's eyes. He had been clothed in a lighter make of the traditional Netherese black glass armor, a model that afforded him the necessary protection but did not hinder his quick movements, with a _piwafwi_ -style cape that cinched to his left shoulder by a handsome brooch and flowed elegantly down his left side; he wore no hood or cowl to hide his dark elf birthright and his elf ears were clearly visible to any who would look upon them, and his amber eyes were matching in hue to Hadrhune's.

With yet another start Phendrana realized that Lim was wreathed in shadow, but he hadn't time to sort out the implications of that before conflict swept over the council chamber like a tidal wave yet again.

"So here you are at last," sneered Rapha, who loomed over Brennus somewhat menacingly on the youngest prince's right side. "What right do you have to abandon the High Prince's interests for such an extended period of time? Tell us where you have been all these long weeks, brother."

"Is it not obvious?" interjected Seventh Prince Dethud. "It is no coincidence that he is here on this first night we glimpse the doppelganger's new form for the first time." All attention turned back to Phendrana, who resisted the urge to fidget uncomfortably where he sat, but Dethud hadn't finished making his opinion known. "You know I am not one to pass judgment, Brennus, but you have gone too far this time. The consequences – "

"Could not have been very severe if he is among us again." Rivalen interrupted, his eyes slits of forbidding silver glaring out from the perpetual shadow of his face. "Can you even comprehend just what you have done, Brennus? You have nullified one of the founding principles of the Empire of Shade. You have violated the thousands-year-old tradition that decides the worth of each and every one of the High Prince's subjects. You have dishonored the Most High so grievously that I confess, I can no longer see what use you have to him. This is an _unforgivable crime_ , Brennus, the resulting effects of which will resound throughout our corner of the realm for hundreds of years to come. Do you know what will happen within this city if word of your treason spreads?"

"Mutiny," sighed Escanor, though clearly it pained him to say such things. "Insurrection. The complete dissolution of our grand empire."

"Surely there is an explanation for this behavior," Clariburnus put in, his hands clasped upon the table in front of him and his shoulders slouched in a display of uncharacteristic defeat – he and Brennus had always been quite close, and it pained Phendrana to see the Fifth Prince clinging to that allegiance even now when all seemed lost. "We all know that our youngest brother is not a traitor – he is as loyal to the High Prince as any of us gathered here. I heard it told that he led Phendrana to the shadow to save his life, and that Phendrana would have been lost otherwise."

"I have heard similar rumors," put in Eighth Prince Mattick, while his twin Ninth Prince Vattick nodded his agreement across the table. "That cannot be called treason, surely. We all know that the Most High had intended to gift Phendrana the shadow, and that he had laid aside a position of great honor for him. Had Brennus failed to act, the High Prince would have lost a valuable ally."

"What do we care for _one doppelganger_?!" shrieked Rapha, his face twisted with manic rage. "Members of his worthless race are a copper a dozen! Let the High Prince satisfy his curiosity with another specimen of such low import!" He was pointing one accusing finger in Phendrana's direction now, his eyes on fire with hatred. "We are the Lords of Shade! We do not trifle ourselves with such useless creatures! This ancient law is _everything_ to us, and now it has been completely disregarded in favor of _one meaningless life_!"

 _Worthless._

 _Low import._

 _One meaningless life._

The Tenth Prince's cutting words resonated within Phendrana's mind and spread like poison through his veins, striking a fever upon his skin, flaring a red tint at the edges of his vision; he had been prepared to abide much ridicule in the wake of his transformation, for he understood well just how seriously he had breached the founding principles of Thultanthar, but these were insults he could not simply accept without defending himself. He had sacrificed everything to serve the Princes of Shade, forsaken his friends and turned his back upon his homeland and even surrendered his mortal soul, and all the while he had carried himself with the honor and dignity he felt the Tanthul family deserved. And for what? To be insulted? To accept these insinuations that he was something less than a person, despite all that he had given and all he had yet to do?

Phendrana's anger rose and crashed over him like a tidal wave, and strangely his mind responded to his heightened state of emotion without any further provocation; he had lurched out of his seat and taken his feet but had no recollection of doing so, his chaotic emotions focusing into one razor-fine point that his mind was harnessing for him. The red at the edges of his vision darkened but everything he glimpsed became ultra-defined, as though his mind was sharpening the clarity of all that he surveyed – and there was nothing now that he saw more clearly than the simpering face of the arrogant Tenth Prince Rapha. Abruptly Phendrana's rage, simmering at a dangerous boil, bubbled over, but his dangerously keen mind was there to channel his excesses into a veritable outpouring of telekinetic energy; he slammed his palms flat upon the table with such force that the blow exploded throughout the chamber like a stroke of thunder, and then Rapha was buckling beneath his gaze. The Tenth Prince slammed back against the wall, the toes of his boots barely scraping the carpet underfoot, his hands scrabbling frantically at his neck though there appeared to be nothing there interfering with his breathing –

"Worthless?" Phendrana heard himself hissing in a voice quite unlike his own, a raspy whisper, a breath that froze the air with its icy hatred. " _Meaningless_?!"

There was commotion everywhere now; Rivalen and Yder and Melegaunt had converged upon Rapha, shouting inquiries, Escanor, Clariburnus, Vattick, and Soleil had leapt from their seats and were shouting at one another to _do something_ , and Hadrhune and Lim seemed to be shaking in a fit of silent laughter. And all the while Rapha hung there helplessly, the perpetual cloak of protective shadows rapidly dissipating as his life force failed him, unable to look away from the doppelganger's chilling silver glare –

A familiar voice reached him from seemingly very far away, the calm point in the center of the otherwise raging hurricane. "Stop this, Phendrana. You have worked too hard these many weeks to lose control of your power now."

Phendrana came back into himself a little, became marginally more aware of where he was and what was happening; the red tint to his vision faded a bit, restoring a certain measure of his sanity. Control? Had he lost control? When had that happened?

Someone laid a hand upon his shoulder; the doppelganger flinched back and a horrible snarl ripped from his throat, a harsh, animalistic sound. "Concentrate, Phendrana," said the voice, perfectly controlled, completely unthreatening. " _Control_. You must control yourself. You don't want to do this. You don't truly want to hurt anyone, do you?"

No, he realized, he didn't really want to hurt anyone, he was just so _angry_ …

"Phendrana," that collected voice said again, a little more insistently. "Fight back."

That was something he could do.

He gritted his teeth together and _heaved_ against that intangible force that was merely an extension of his own mind, wrenching with all his might to bring it back under his control; it seemed that his rage had manifested into an invisible force that had seized Rapha by the throat and was slowly crushing the life from him, completely against his own volition. For a moment he grappled with it as one might throttle a physical enemy, molding back into a more desirable shape, bending that force to his will, and with a suddenness that ripped a gasp from Phendrana's lips everything returned to normal. His mind tamed, his vision returned to normal, and his other senses that had dulled during the flaring of his telekinetic energy suddenly returned to his awareness. He was gasping for breath, everyone was staring at him with a combination of terror and awe, and with a sharp inhale Rapha slumped to the floor.

Phendrana turned his head, fully expecting to find Brennus at his side, only to find that it was Third Prince Lamorak who had braved the full force of Phendrana's mental capacities to bring him back to himself. The doppelganger glanced across the table to where the Twelfth Prince sat, expecting an expression of concern to be looking back at him, and felt a shadow of his former rage rear its head when he identified the fear he found there instead.

 _How can you be afraid of me?!_ he shrieked, knowing that the loremaster would hear the silent words within his mind. _YOU MADE ME!_

"Take your seats," commanded a cool voice from near the head of the table, and flitting his eyes in that direction Phendrana found that Fourth Prince Aglarel had at last joined them – how long had he been standing among them unnoticed? His arms were crossed adamantly over his chest and he was alternating calculating glances between the place where Lamorak stood with Phendrana, the end of the table where Lim and Hadrhune still sat chuckling softly, and the opposite side of the chamber where Yder and Rivalen were helping Rapha to his feet. "The High Prince comes, and he is hardly in the mood for your petty squabbles. I have been commanded to tell all of you that if you are not prepared to obey his every word this night, you will be dismissed immediately from council." And with those admittedly ominous words he took his seat diligently, watching expectantly for his brothers to do the same.

The moment the last of them was seated the High Prince appeared among them, standing behind the magnificent chair at the head of the council table looking grave; they snapped to attention, prepared to serve, but Phendrana felt he was well-learned in their temperaments and didn't expect certain among their number to still be seated among them when the meeting came to a close. His eyes slipped to the table's surface, and with a start he realized there was a great fissure running through the dark granite where his hands had struck it just minutes ago.

"Let us move quickly, for we have much to discuss and I do not want the populace to feel that there is something amiss," Telamont told them brusquely, and he surveyed them all with his typical distinct air of nobility. "I know that many of you have reservations regarding Phendrana's involvement with this evening's… excitement. I will tell you now that he has my full support, and I no more fear his involvement in this devious plot than I fear any of you. Those of you that will continue to question his loyalty may leave us now, for I have nothing further to say to you."

Predictably Rapha rose from his seat right away, his nose in the air. "I will take my leave. It seems that I am the only one here who has not forsaken the old ways, Most High One, for I still believe in the sanctity of the Shadow Ceremony and the importance of such a ritual. This violation of our way of life does not sit well with me, and if I am expected to sit here and accept these breaches in our society I would much rather serve you from afar."

"Dismissed," Telamont said quietly, hardly phased by Rapha's words, and the Tenth Prince turned on his heel and swept off into the Shadow Plane. "Anyone else?" There was silence for the span of several heartbeats, during which Phendrana dared to believe that Rapha's interruption would be the only one, but then Yder also took his feet, bowed to their sovereign, and exited also. "Very well," said Telamont diplomatically, prepared to move ahead, but then Dethud cleared his throat.

"I do not wish to leave," the Seventh Prince confessed, his words uncertain, "but if you will enlighten me, High Prince… I have heard it told that Phendrana came into your bedchamber in the early hours of the morning and happened upon the true assassin standing at your bedside. I have considered every avenue that seems logical to me, but I confess – I can come up with no justification that places Phendrana in your private quarters at such a time. I only ask for your wisdom on this matter – I do not question you."

"Lamorak has been studying Phendrana since his transformation," Telamont informed them all. "He has formulated a theory that may serve as an adequate answer to your question."

Phendrana's gaze swept over Brennus, to find that the Twelfth Prince was glaring at him most inhospitably. The doppelganger's head spun. What could he have possibly done to find himself the recipient of such ire? Lamorak cleared his throat then, and sat up a little straighter. "The shadow crushes the mortal soul and stills the heart, both essential for the host body to survive under any circumstances. The essence of shadow is more than capable of sustaining us, but in response to shutting down the systems it must override in order to function properly it heightens a number of our existing capabilities so that we are better able to cope with the sudden changes to our bodies. For example, Rivalen is able to commune directly with the goddess Shar as a result of his heightened faith, and Clariburnus is stronger of arm than a score of warriors. In Phendrana's case, his advanced mental capabilities have become even more honed in more ways than one – in addition to stronger telepathy and telekinesis, it seems he has also become a Seer."

The question was upon Phendrana's lips almost instantly, but still Soleil beat him to it. "A Seer?"

"He has dreams that compound upon one another - and tonight, for the first time, one of his dreams played out detail-for-detail. With his subconscious mind he has been predicting the assassination attempt on the High Prince for weeks now." A violent chill that had little to do with the room's temperature ripped through Phendrana's body as the Determinist Prime finished, "He is, for all intents and purposes, a prophet."

Clariburnus was staring back at Lamorak looking dumbfounded. "I have never heard of such a thing happening before. Can the shadow truly be responsible for this gift of his?"

Lamorak shrugged noncommittally and said simply, "Once, hundreds of years ago, I watched you wrestle a were-owlbear that stood fourteen feet tall. You weren't wearing your armor, and you hadn't brought any of your weapons. If I remember correctly you snapped its neck, you didn't sustain any wounds, and you told me you did it 'for fun'."

"Oh yes," Clariburnus cackled, and Phendrana couldn't help but appreciate the levity. "That _was_ fun."

"My point is," Lamorak continued, "that the shadow has been responsible for many unprecedented gifts over the years we have been harnessing it for our uses. If this was not an ability that Phendrana possessed prior to his transformation, it is only fair to assume that the shadow bestowed it upon him."

"That may explain how he knew of the assassin's impending arrival," Rivalen drawled, obviously nonplussed, "but it does not explain how the doppelganger showed up in the precise place at the absolute right time. Is that not curious?"

"Tonight was the first time I glimpsed the killing blow in my dreams," Phendrana recalled, and his stomach writhed when he remembered just how close to his demise the High Prince had truly come. "When I woke, after seeing such a thing, I knew that I had to move quickly or the deed would be done."

Rivalen came forward in his chair, silver eyes glinting maniacally, and it was obvious that he was hardly convinced of Phendrana's innocence. "And how could you have possibly known just where the High Prince's bedchamber was located?"

Phendrana's eyes were upon Lamorak when he confessed, "I felt it." The Third Prince nodded minutely back at him – at least one person understood.

Then Rivalen vacated his seat, and Phendrana's spirits plummeted again.

"High Prince, I beg you, give me leave to return to the Church and commune with Shar," the Second Prince requested, looking flustered and confused. "That is how I can best aid you now – I will be of no use if I stay here."

Telamont surveyed his second eldest son with something like quiet sadness lining his platinum eyes – it was clear in his expression that he hadn't been expecting this loss, and took it harder than the others – but in the end he did not object. "You are also dismissed," he told Rivalen authoritatively, and the High Priest of Shar vanished without another word. Phendrana couldn't help but wonder how many more of the High Prince's progeny and trusted advisors would abandon their sovereign's cause simply because they could not find it within themselves to trust him.

"You _felt_ it?" Vattick repeated, his face scrunched up with confusion as he struggled to understand.

"I have difficulty navigating the Shadow Plane with my eyes," Phendrana admitted sheepishly, his shoulders drooping a little. "In my lessons Prince Lamorak has been teaching me how to use my mental influence to sense familiar thought patterns and auras, and to use those emanations to guide my feet when I am passing through that dimension."

Vattick exchanged a glance with his twin, who shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "I have never heard of someone navigating the Plane of Shadow in such a way," Mattick confessed, at a loss for words. "That is… unusual, certainly, and most impressive."

"Be that as it may," Aglarel broke in, his voice pinched with barely contained impatience, "I can't imagine that these curiosities will be much help to us as we endeavor to protect the High Prince from future situations of this nature." The cool reminder remained unspoken, but the true meaning of Aglarel's words was plain: " _We have other more pressing business to attend to."_

"You are right," Escanor acknowledged, and leaning forward in his chair he set his gaze upon Phendrana, who had been anticipating further questioning; the atmosphere was still one of complete unease, and the doppelganger was perceptive enough that he did not miss the constant glances of suspicion being cast his way. "Phendrana, tell us of the assassination attempt. What was the intruder doing when you came upon him? What did he look like?"

"Did he speak?" Lamorak put in earnestly.

Phendrana's eyes traced the fissure in the table that he had caused in his rage, feeling slightly melancholy and self-conscious – how could he have allowed his self-control to waver? He found it somewhat simpler to address them if he didn't look anyone in the eye, and with his hands twisting in his lap he recalled the events to them. "He was coming to the High Prince's bedside from the balcony… Which I find confusing, now that it comes to it. Obviously he came in through the door, for when I came upon the guards they had already been killed."

"Likely he was securing the perimeter," Dethud put in quietly. "Ensuring there were no other unseen guards ready to flock to the Most High's rescue."

Phendrana felt a little better for the clarity, and continued with a little more confidence. "When I saw that he was armed I acted purely on impulse… My power… I cannot explain what happened."

"I have glimpsed the depths of your destruction," Aglarel put in, and he surveyed the group at large to ensure that he had everyone's attention before continuing. "Curtains shredded. Marble torn asunder as if it was parchment. Handrail splintered. Further proof that whoever we are dealing with is more than he appears – such telekinetic energy should have destroyed him. He must have enchantments warding him against such attacks."

"What did he look like?" Escanor prompted again, a little more firmly this time, and Phendrana, Aglarel, and Aveil all responded simultaneously.

"He was a drow."

The icy, forbidding silence that descended upon the council chamber was akin to the inside of a long-undisturbed tomb as realization dawned upon them all, and then First Prince Escanor vacated his chair and turned his burning copper eyes upon Lim Tal'eyve. To his credit the drow did his best to look appropriately concerned, and his expression changed to one of polite perplexity when he met Escanor's gaze.

"You," hissed Escanor, radiating hostility with every fiber of his being. "You brought this upon us."

"I?" repeated Lim, coming forward a little in his chair, seeming offended, and Phendrana's hands twitched angrily in his lap. "I am in no way related to this incident. You will name me the villain simply because I share a heritage with this would-be assassin? Drow are cold-blooded killers, prince – it is in our nature. If you do not acquaint yourself with murder at a young age you are more often than not disposed of. It is a trait my brethren and I all share, certainly, but a desire to destroy the High Prince?" he scoffed and waved one hand dismissively, as if the issue was hardly worth his time at all. "Preposterous."

"And yet we suffered no qualm with the dark elves until we adopted _you_ into our midst!" bellowed Clariburnus, who had also leapt to his feet now and had one hand upon the shaft of his enchanted glaive as though prepared to strike. "Now two fortnights after your ascension your kind is sending killers to our doorstep with every intention of _murdering_ our monarch?!"

"Allow me to remind you yet again that the actions of my kin have nothing to do with me," Lim answered with a sigh.

"What proof do you have of that?" Lamorak challenged diplomatically, though it was clear in his eyes that he was no less incensed than the rest of them – rather, he mastered his temper far better. "What alibi absolves you of your involvement?"

Lim opened his mouth to speak but Hadrhune cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, his eyes seeking the High Prince's when he said, "He could not have assisted anyone in breaching the enclave's defenses, Most High One, because he was with me."

That set all of them back on their heels for a moment – except Telamont, who was surveying Hadrhune as though unsurprised by this news. Escanor, who had always been at odds with the seneschal and whose rivalry had only worsened since he had announced his betrothal to Soleil, recovered first and responded rather antagonistically. "And what business do you have with him, I wonder?"

"I have been entertaining him in the Shadow Mages College in the late hours of the night, when classes have concluded for the day," Hadrhune informed him placidly, seemingly bored in the face of his hostility. "I have been versing him in the ways of shadow magic and aiding him in acclimating to his new life at the High Prince's request."

"In addition to what other less-than-reputable pursuits?" Escanor fired back, and Hadrhune sighed tragically as though wounded by his words.

"I am only providing a service on the Most High's order – the same service, I might remind you, that Prince Lamorak is supplying Phendrana, and I do not hear anyone protesting that."

Phendrana swept his gaze surreptitiously around the table, saying nothing, gauging the reactions of those gathered around him; Escanor looked deflated at the abrupt halt of his swiftly-mounting tirade, Lim was looking bored at the way the council session was proceeding, and Aglarel and Aveil were staring quietly into one another's eyes as though engaged in silent conversation. Unconsciously he found his gaze coming to rest upon Lamorak, admittedly his only true supporter in this conflict, to find that the Determinist Prime was already watching him with an unreadable expression upon his face; Phendrana started to reach his thoughts out in Lamorak's direction but snatched his mental influence away almost immediately, for the chamber was filled with the High Prince's awareness and he wasn't foolish enough to believe that their conversation would be truly private if he pursued it.

Was anyone present not secretly striving to achieve their own ends?

Thankfully the High Prince brought the discussion back on track, though his voice was steely and strangely detached. "All that Hadrhune says is true, Escanor; you must lay your prejudices aside, for Hadrhune has atoned for his past transgressions and continues to do my bidding – the same as the rest of you. I grow weary of your petty squabbles and your division – already three of my own sons have abandoned this council, and I will not tolerate further insurrection. Phendrana is in no way responsible for the assassination attempt – instead of accusing him you should be thanking him, for as I recall _he_ was responsible for coming to my defense and not any of you." He graciously allowed them all a moment for those words to sink in, only considering the silence substantial when a handful of them began to shift guiltily in their chairs, and then his gaze fell upon Aglarel. "You have inspected the city's enchantments for breaches?"

"Yes," Aglarel confirmed, looking vexed. "All of the enchantments are intact – indeed, we seem to be faced with a situation similar to one we dealt with not long ago."

This seemed to mean something to Telamont, who turned immediately to Lim Tal'eyve. "When you led the phaerimm here all those months ago, how did you manage to avoid the enchantments that keep portals from activating within the enclave? And tell me truthfully – your safety here might well depend upon your answer."

"I was able to convince the Spider Queen that I intended to lay waste to your city," Lim admitted, "and with her belief in my intentions I was able to secure her support for my entrance. The portal she conjured was one of divine strength, and likely nullified your security enchantments altogether."

Was Telamont looking troubled? Phendrana wasn't certain he had ever seen his sovereign wearing such a somber expression before. "Is it possible that Lolth would grant such aid to another drow?"

Lim spread his hands, at a loss. "Perhaps, but to whom? If I were to speculate I would say that only a high-ranking priestess could make such a request of the goddess, and then only with very good reason. And for what reason would a priestess of Lolth attempt murder on the High Prince of Thultanthar?"

"You'll forgive us if we continue to assume this has something to do with you," Clariburnus told him dryly, earning himself a spattering of dark chuckles in response.

"Until we have any such proof," Telamont rumbled disapprovingly, "we will assume no such thing. I require constant vigilance from all of you, and with that in mind I will now share with you my will.

"Tomorrow we will assemble in the palace courtyard to name Phendrana a Hero of Thultanthar and the Mind of the Most High, titles which he well deserves that should have been bestowed upon him the moment he set foot within our city. I want the gates opened and I want all of the city in attendance – let them all see the face of their new champion, who selflessly thwarted an attempt on the life of their sovereign. Let us not forget that three days from now we will be holding a masquerade in honor of Soleil's upcoming marriage to Escanor – this affair will take place in the grand ballroom, and is to be attended by all members of the Upper and Lower courts. The wedding is a tenday from now, and if you value your lives you will work together to solve this fiasco before then. I have waited millennia to witness the wedding of my eldest son to a woman deserving of the title First Princess of Thultanthar, and nothing will spoil this occasion, do I make myself clear?"

There was a general murmur of agreement throughout the council chamber, but the High Prince chose not to wait for their replies; an instant later he had dissolved into his own shadow and left their midst, much to the surprise of all. Anxious whispered conversations struck up from all directions with several pairs of eyes flitting questioningly in his direction and away in what their owners surely hoped was an inconspicuous manner; Phendrana suddenly felt that he could not abide to remain in the presence of such suspicious gazes any longer, and closing his eyes he stepped into the Realm of Shadow.

It occurred to him as he was stumbling through that lightless plane in the direction of Villa Tareia that during the council, Brennus hadn't spoken a single word.


	7. Separate Agendas

She prayed for hours, beseeching her goddess to hear her pleas and impart upon her wisdom. She prayed in every language she knew – even those she was not well versed in, to prove to her goddess that she was willing to humiliate herself if only she might listen. She prayed until she was so sleep deprived that her own words seemed to take on a dreamlike quality, and on occasion she lost the ability to distinguish between slumber and wakefulness. And in these states of incoherency, she communed again with the great Spider Queen.

 _I should ruin you,_ Lolth taunted her remorselessly. _This task is of the utmost importance and already you have failed me. I should descend upon you in my glorious spider form and utterly devour you._

Fortunately, Quartana Baenre knew the proper response. _I would be awed to gaze upon your beauty in whichever form you chose to manifest, Lady Lolth, and I would humbly accept whatever fate you have prepared for me. My only desire is to serve you._

 _And if I thought otherwise I would already have consumed your pitiful body, but as it is I have use for you still and your loyalty cannot be questioned._ Three images drifted into Quartana's mind then, one of a doppelganger-turned-shade with haunting eyes of silver, one of a Netherese prince in the guise of an assassin, and one of a dark-haired snow elf with eyes the color of precious violets. _I tried to warn you that these three would prove a great obstacle for you, and you chose not to heed me. I will tell you now that while they live, you will find reaching Lim Tal'eyve impossible. Find a way to dispatch them, or you will surely fail… and you should know by now that I do not suffer failures to live._

 _How might I eliminate them?_ Quartana asked, her words slurred with exhaustion, her consciousness waning as she sought her goddess's approval.

 _You already know, for I have already shown you. If you ask me again I will eliminate you. Should you remember how best you might utilize your underlings to complete my bidding, I shall provide you with the means to journey into the shadow city of the Tanthul family. If you do not, rest assured there is no hole you might crawl into that will hide you from me for long!_

There may have been more to the conversation – further threats, perhaps, or more ridicule – but Quartana's consciousness wavered and she became incoherent for a time. Fortunately during her catatonic Reverie she recalled those three faces in her previous divinations with her goddess – whether she remembered them now of her own accord or the Spider Queen's mercy she couldn't say. But she did see their demises keenly in her mind's eye – the crushing of the doppelganger's feeble mind in the sadistic hands of the psionist Oblodra, the Netherese prince's murder at the hands of the master of alteration, and the sorceress's demise in a futile wizard's duel against the Xorlarrin conjurer.

Perhaps she had been deterred at the outset, but she felt confident that her next attempts at pleasing the Spider Queen would have significantly more favorable results.

* * *

It was daybreak when Phendrana at last set foot in his private quarters, and despite the fact that he hadn't rested in nearly a full day sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. He managed one step in the direction of his magnificent four-poster, stumbled, and caught himself unceremoniously by bracing one hand heavily against the bedframe; the memory of Brennus's cold, inhospitable, almost hateful expression was seared into his mind's eye with shocking clarity, and he didn't think anything he did now would dispel it. He choked back a sob and clung to the wooden frame with such force that his fingernails left deep gouges in the smooth surface, his mind a whirlwind of adrenaline and half-formed accusations and fragmented recollections of that disastrous council session. How had they come to this? Phendrana had loved Brennus with all his heart, had been willing to forsake everything for the opportunity to serve him; how had they gone from such trust and compassion to such rage, such inexplicable, all-consuming hatred? For he could feel it now, pumping through his system like the most potent poison: hatred, coursing black like oil through every crevice of his body, filling him with anger, compelling him to act upon his most evil, impulsive urges –

He clenched his eyes shut in an effort to regain his senses, and was abruptly struck with the most vivid series of images he had ever glimpsed in his waking hours.

He was standing alone upon a wide, sweeping balcony, dropped into a defensible crouch and circling a predatory-looking drow with eyes white as newly fallen snow; he knew from the vacant expressions on both his and his opponent's faces that they were warring within their minds, for it was a concept he was intimately familiar with. As he watched with horror he collapsed before the drow with the chilling eyes, clutching his own head and wailing in agony as in the next moment his brain was seized in the telekinetic clutches of his adversary and hopelessly crushed.

Phendrana swayed, gasping for breath, and might have fallen were it not for the hand that gripped him at the elbow with the force of a vice, and then he heard voices from seemingly worlds away.

" _Can you hear me?! What's happening?! Phendrana?!"_

" _Be quiet. Let him see what he is meant to see. Doubtless that which he glimpses will be our salvation."_

He watched as Aglarel led the Most High to the world window, surprised at the interaction between them; they smiled at one another and talked as friends might talk, with an easy camaraderie that Phendrana had never witnessed upon the often-taciturn Fourth Prince's face. They stood for a moment at the edge of the deep basin, glimpsing events that Phendrana was not privy to, before the High Prince drew a blade from behind his back and ran his son through. As Aglarel was dying on the end of the blade the likeness of the High Prince faded into the true form of a drow with a scar over one eye, a wicked, pitiless grin upon his face.

It was too monstrous; he wanted nothing more than to wrench himself back into the present, to open his eyes and glimpse reality, but he knew that if he did so someone's life would be at stake and he would not risk that for anything.

" _Phendrana, are you alright?!"_

" _Please, control yourself. Have you forgotten that his visions saved the High Prince's life? If you cannot stand idly by I will remove you."_

The doppelganger wanted to open his mouth and tell them what he was seeing, or at least to reassure them that he was alright, but yet another dreamlike vision swam before his closed eyelids and he found he could focus on nothing now but that. It was a more public setting with well-clad, masked Shadovar all around, some scurrying away in fear and others rooted to the spot in morbid fascination; in the center of their hastily-formed circle stood Aveil with a great staff clenched in her hands, facing off against a female drow. It was clear in Aveil's face that she was suffering great pain and her arcane abilities were nearly exhausted; seeing her adversary readying a spell she casted defensively, only for the spell to fail. With a howl of victory the drow priestess conjured a pack of hell hounds, and the unholy creatures fell upon the sorceress at once and tore her to shreds.

Suddenly he had wrenched his eyes open, dragging ragged gulps of oxygen into his lungs, chilled to the bone beneath the cold sweat that had settled upon his skin; Lamorak released his elbow immediately and hastened to put several paces between them, though his eyes remained narrowed with genuine concern. Phendrana cut his eyes to the balcony, for he had drawn the curtains against the prying eyes of the outside world weeks ago and didn't remember throwing them wide, to find Aglarel standing at the railing with his arms crossed over his chest and his back to them as he surveyed the Circle diligently. Phendrana swiped one slightly-trembling hand surreptitiously across his brow to keep the sweat from impairing his vision and straightened, for if there was one thing he knew well it was that one needed to keep one's composure around Fourth Prince Aglarel at all times.

His eyes narrowed as he glanced Lamorak's way. "Why are you here?"

"You meant to speak with me," the Third Prince reminded flatly, as though the answer should be obvious. "In the council chamber I felt your mind seeking me out, only to withdraw. You were right to do so – it is unwise to engage in such conversation if you would prefer your words not to come to the High Prince's notice. Anything you might have said he would have been privy to."

Phendrana's mind was full to bursting with recently-gleaned knowledge and the events of the past several hours and the too-vivid images he had just glimpsed as if in a dream, and couldn't remember for the life of him what he had meant to say. He was saved having to stumble through an apology when Aglarel turned back to face them, his eyes peering out from beneath the edge of his cowl, his expression unreadable. "What did you see?"

"Aglarel," Lamorak chastised immediately, "give him a moment. Clearly he is out of sorts."

"Depending upon what he saw," Aglarel answered ominously, "we may not have a moment." He paused just inside of Phendrana's comfort zone, standing one step closer than Phendrana might have cared for him to stand, and repeated himself. "What did you see?"

The images swirled incoherently, blending together in a whirl of too-vibrant colors, and Phendrana shook his head vigorously as though with one motion he might dispel the images from his minds' eye altogether. "I saw myself dying… And you…" He broke off abruptly, fear gripping him in its merciless clutches, and barked, "Where is Aveil?"

"Why?" Did Aglarel's eyes narrow a fraction? What was that nameless emotion hovering, expertly contained, just beneath the surface?

"I saw her too," Phendrana admitted breathlessly, his voice a desperate plea, and after surveying the doppelganger appraisingly for a moment Aglarel nodded once, lifted his hand, and pressed the pad of his index finger gently against the black amethyst pierced through his right ear. There was a beat of uncomfortable silence, during which Lamorak uttered an impatient and disapproving sigh and settled into one of the chairs standing around the dining table near the door and Phendrana wished fervently for even a moment's peace, and then a shadow formed upon the balcony and solidified into the figure of the Sceptrana of Thultanthar.

"It's good that you summoned me," she began, sweeping a few strands of her lustrous black hair behind one ear and striding forward into Phendrana's bedchamber to join them; perhaps it was Phendrana's imagination, but he thought Aveil seemed a shade paler than usual and even a bit shaken. "I fear the task you've set me is beyond my abilities to handle alone. I may need your help."

"I thought as much," Aglarel agreed, "but that is not why I have called you here." He glanced sidelong at Phendrana, at once skeptical but resigned, and added, "Tell us what you saw."

The doppelganger looked to Lamorak for clarity, for he had only ever divulged the contents of his visions to the Determinist Prime and no one else; Lamorak nodded once encouragingly, and so Phendrana launched into a retelling of what he had most recently glimpsed. He knew that he was speaking too fast and that he was often tripping over his own words in places, but they never corrected him or asked any questions – they all seemed to sense that even now the images were beginning to fade from his memory, and that he was desperate to share all he knew with them before the details were forever lost. By the time he had finished Aveil and Aglarel had both taken seats at the dining table, and the doppelganger thought it might not be a bad idea to have Lux bring up an early breakfast. While they awaited the meal they took to dissecting Phendrana's visions with a commendable attention to even the smallest, most insignificant detail.

"Firstly," Aglarel began, "how closely did your first dream of the High Prince's assassination match up with the events that transpired a few hours ago?"

Phendrana wasn't looking at any of them; he had his head in his hands as he stared at the table, struggling to compare the details. It occurred to him after a time that he was having difficulty distinguishing between the dream and the reality because they mirrored one another exactly, but for one major difference. "Apart from the fact that I was able to thwart the assassin before he could complete his work, they were identical. I can think of no other discrepancies."

"You are certain?" Aglarel pressed, his tone of voice allowing for no leniency, but Phendrana stood his ground.

"The dream you speak of plagued me every night for longer than a lunar cycle," the doppelganger divulged. "I am certain."

"Then we must trust that what you have seen now will come to pass at some point," Aveil deduced, "though we have no way of knowing precisely when."

Lamorak shifted forward in his seat, prompting Phendrana to lift his head; the Determinist Prime had retrieved a few blank sheets of parchment, an inkwell, and a quill from the study desk in the corner and was even now dipping the tip of the quill into the inkwell, fixing Phendrana with that polite, expectant expression the doppelganger felt well acquainted with after their weeks of lessons. It was enough to steal some of the mounting tension from his muscles, and he felt a wash of gratitude flood his insides. "Let's start with the first image," Lamorak began clinically, setting the tip of the quill to the parchment. "You said you were on a balcony? Was it your own?"

Phendrana shook his head almost instantly. "No, it was much larger than any balcony I have seen at any villa I have ever visited." Still the image did nag at him, for he was certain that he had set foot upon that enormous balcony at some point in the past, and abruptly he remembered. "The observation platform at the palace – of course. Surely that is what I saw."

Aglarel opened his mouth to begin another interrogation, perhaps, but was cut short when Lamorak lifted one finger to silence him; the quill was scratching away at the surface of the parchment, and Phendrana found himself oddly soothed by the sound. "You have been there before?" Lamorak prodded.

"Yes, once – when the phaerimm were loose in the enclave, Brennus and I were able to escape Villa Tareia by taking to the air on the back of Xanther's dragonnel Amphinix. It was far too dangerous to land anywhere else, so we admitted ourselves into the palace via the observation deck." He steadfastly ignored the pang of loss and fury that resonated from somewhere deep within his chest when he said the loremaster's name aloud, and didn't allow the hurt to show through in his voice. "I'm sure I recognize it."

"And the drow facing you," Lamorak prodded gently. "Was it the same drow who attempted to murder the High Prince?"

Phendrana found himself shaking his head right away, for no better reason than they _felt_ as two completely different people. He had been unerringly focused on protecting the High Prince and had steadfastly kept his mind rooted to the task at hand, but in the scant moments his mental influence had strayed beyond the confines of his mind he had felt a deep sense of mystery shrouding his adversary, a curious detachment – killing the High Prince had been his charge task but something about the way he moved suggested it was a means to an end, and not his true purpose there. But the drow he had glimpsed just now, all three, had been different individuals entirely – the High Prince's would-be killer had been in possession of that awful starmetal blade, and his eyes had been of a curious magenta hue. The drow he was destined to face next had eyes so white Phendrana could hardly guess where the white ended and the iris began; the one who had fooled Aglarel by adopting the clever guise of the High Prince had only one eye, and Aveil's killer had been female. Absently he trailed the fingers of his left hand over the moon ivy still clinging resolutely to the tear in his armor, mesmerized by the way it flexed and shifted beneath his fingertips, and said, "No. They are all four different. Their faces are not known to me."

"What is that?" Aglarel broke in, pointing to the moon ivy patch upon Phendrana's chest as Lamorak scribbled diligently upon his sheaf of parchment.

"I sustained a wound from the assassin's blade," Phendrana explained, shuddering at the memory of the fatigue and that burning, searing pain the cursed metal had inflicted. "The High Prince said it was wrought of starmetal." Aglarel and Lamorak exchanged a look of genuine concern at that, prompting Phendrana to add, "You know of it?"

"Of course we know of it," the Fourth Prince growled, hitching his shoulders once in what may have been a twitch of irritation. "A rare metal that only the most talented of smiths can forge under very specific conditions. If it is refined just right it can put an end to any extraplanar creature it touches – including the shades, for our bodies were molded by the very essence of the Shadow Realm and thus we are a part of it, and bereft of this Material Plane. If the assassin bore such a weapon, this attack can hardly be called an isolated incident."

"It was premeditated," Aveil concluded quietly. "The decision to infiltrate the enclave was planned. The assassin knew what he would be up against."

"Likely those who follow him will be similarly well-informed," said Aglarel icily, hardly pleased by the prospect, and while Lamorak was jotting down all of their musings the door opened a tentative crack and Lux peeked around at them. Phendrana waved him in with a kind half-smile, and the Shadovar boy led the kitchen staff in with the breakfast spread. The moment the housekeepers made themselves scarce Aglarel continued, "How could they not be? They possess weapons designed to destroy us utterly. They employ emissaries specially suited to dispatching a very specific target. They are even clever enough to embody our sovereign – your visions indicated as much."

"We must keep an even closer watch over the High Prince in the days to come, now that we know what to expect," Aveil suggested, and she sighed. "Our responsibilities grow weighty."

"We knew this would not be easy," Aglarel reminded her almost kindly, and Phendrana found himself raising an eyebrow at that.

"What – "

"Later," Lamorak interrupted them, his voice a firm reprimand, and when he had Phendrana's attention he continued with his line of questioning. "You said in the next vision you saw Aglarel in the High Prince's audience chamber. Was there anyone else present?"

"No. They were alone." Just the thought made Phendrana uneasy – it was a dark day indeed when they could not trust their own monarch.

"And could you see what they glimpsed in the world window?" Lamorak was all business, in his element now.

"Not even a fraction," Phendrana lamented, but a ray of hope was quick to return to him in the next instant as he recalled, "but my previous dream progressed as time went on. Perhaps these visions will play themselves out in a similar manner, and more of the puzzle will become known to me."

Aveil was peeling a clementine with her fingernails, but her gaze was distant. "I fear we do not have the time you will need to gather the information we require – these events will transpire soon. You mentioned a formal setting in the last vision you glimpsed, during which I battled with a drow priestess… What was the attire of those in attendance? Were any of those lingering in the near vicinity wearing masks?"

Phendrana closed his eyes, chewing a grape slowly, focusing with all his might on the vague image that he could recall; he was uncertain on a great many details, that much was true, but the crowd had stood out for that seemingly out-of-place detail and he knew he hadn't imagined it. He opened his eyes to regard her from across the table, a leaden weight settling in the pit of his stomach. "They were wearing masks – every one."

Despite his ominous declaration Aveil hardly seemed phased, popping a wedge of fruit into her mouth and saying, "Then by the High Prince's own words we have no more than three days to solve this riddle – perhaps less, if the other things Phendrana has seen come to pass before my battle with the conjurer."

"A small window when you take into account our other affairs," Aglarel mused, hardly pleased with the prospect, and Phendrana's burning curiosity got the better of him before he could temper it with good judgment.

"What affairs?"

"That doesn't concern you," Aveil retorted, immediately on the defensive, but surprisingly Aglarel silenced her with a steely look and turned at once toward the doppelganger.

"You have been in isolation here, so you know very little – even Lamorak, who has no reason not to know the entire truth, is not so well informed regarding the circumstances behind the elevation of Lim Tal'eyve as he thinks he is." Aglarel considered Phendrana over the rim of his glass, and it struck Phendrana then just how similar their eyes were; silver like moonlight, but in the doppelganger's case they were radiant and in the prince's face they were cold and somehow omniscient. "The public story is that this newest face upon the Shadow Council is an illegitimate relation to the High Prince in some way – a bastard son, perhaps, or a nephew whose parentage is noble enough and whose Determining was successful enough that he earned himself a place of great prominence… The populace trusts in the judgment of the High Prince, and so this story has been easy to sow throughout the Lower District. The private story that the Most High has shared with the Princes of Shade is that Lim Tal'eyve came to him in good faith with a business offer that our sovereign accepted for the obvious benefits such a bargain was sure to produce, but the details of just what that bargain entails have been omitted – so as not to cause further discord within our already-unstable ruling body, I am sure. But Aveil and I are possessed of the truth of their arrangement, the nature of which is more appalling and the repercussions of which are more far-reaching than anyone might have imagined. Lim Tal'eyve's role as the Anointed Blade of the Jaezred Chaulssin was never fulfilled during the Time of Troubles, and for years he has been bound to the Spider Queen in the guise of a reformed worshipper when in fact he is still pursuing his original mandate. He has been biding his time, awaiting the precise opportunity when he might put an end to Lolth once and for all, and he has convinced himself that the most surefire way to secure success in this campaign was to forge an alliance with the High Prince. In return for the essence of shadow and the support of Thultanthar should his actions lead to conflict with opposing city-states, Lim Tal'eyve has promised to use the power he has gained over the years to supplant the Spider Queen from the Faerunian pantheon and offer her as a gift to our goddess, Shar."

Lamorak was looking appropriately appalled, but Phendrana was far less surprised by this news. He had been in isolation since his ill-fated return from Castle Tethyr so of course he hadn't heard the half-truths and outright lies the High Prince had fashioned concerning Lim Tal'eyve's sudden rise to prominence within their society, but he was already privy to the truth – he had heard it in Aveil's own retelling nearly two fortnights past, when she had divulged as much to Aglarel. Looking back on it he remembered trying to warn several whom he trusted of the events secretly transpiring within the Most High's court – Escanor, Clariburnus, Soleil, and Brennus among them – but they hadn't heeded him and his account had been dismissed after very little deliberation. Hearing that he had been right to suspect the truth behind these words all along was somewhat of a relief – his intuition had told him then that this was an issue not to be taken lightly, and his intuition was seldom wrong.

Predictably, Lamorak recovered quickly and struck up a series of inquiries. "Lim Tal'eyve offered this ludicrous proposal to the High Prince and our sovereign _accepted it_?!"

"For good or ill," Aglarel told him. "We have yet to determine which."

"But surely the Most High can see that this will only end in folly!" Lamorak exclaimed, glancing Phendrana's way with wild eyes, but the doppelganger had no reassurance to offer him. "The drow cannot possibly succeed in this! Does he not understand that he is contending with _deities_?!"

"From the way that he talks, he is fully aware of it," Aveil admitted darkly. "Anticipating the opportunity, even."

Lamorak was beside himself; Phendrana wished he had the means to calm him, but was at a loss for what to do or say. "How can the High Prince believe this course of action has any chance of being a fruitful one?! The gift of the shadow does not give a creature the power to topple the gods!"

A resounding silence followed this proclamation, during which Aglarel and Aveil exchanged a contemplative look, and abruptly Phendrana remembered how to speak. "You believe this is somehow possible," he surmised breathlessly, glancing back and forth between them, unable to believe it himself.

Aglarel visibly hesitated – the first time Phendrana had ever witnessed even a fraction of uncertainty coming from the always-collected master assassin – before saying vaguely, "The High Prince is a very old, very wise, very powerful being. None now living are nearer to the divine than he is. It may be that the shadow is a stronger force than we know, and that through harnessing its true potential the shades can reach divinity themselves."

"This is madness," Lamorak inserted hoarsely. "Utter madness. You are suggesting that men like you and me possess the strength to rival the divine!"

"And I suppose we will find out soon enough whether or not it is true," Aglarel finished. "The High Prince has entered into this accord with the drow and neither you nor I have the power to overturn his will now – we can only watch, and wait. The High Prince is already convinced that Lim will fail in these endeavors, and so has placed little stock in what is to come."

For Phendrana, this was confusing. "But why would the High Prince enter into an accord when he knows it will fail? He has nothing to gain."

"That was my understanding as well," Aglarel confessed, and Phendrana wondered at the introspective quality in his voice – he had never known the Fourth Prince to be so forthcoming with his knowledge. "But by the High Prince's logic, he stands only to gain here. The odds are stacked hopelessly against Lim Tal'eyve, but imagine the reward to us all in the slim chance that he _does_ succeed. If the High Prince is the one to hand over the Spider Queen to Shar… Our sovereign, and all of us, would be eternally rewarded. There is none the Dark Mother hates more than Lolth. Such is the Most High's reasoning for offering the drow his support."

"And if the drow fails," Lamorak concluded, finally catching on, "the High Prince will punish him – strip him of his shadow orb and reduce him to nothing. The failure will be of no real loss to us."

Phendrana lifted his chin a fraction and stared Fourth Prince Aglarel boldly in the eye, to find the assassin was already watching him as though anticipating his next inquiry. It was both reassuring to know that he wouldn't have to explain himself for a change and eerie that the prince was already awaiting his questions – how did he manage to stay one step ahead of every situation? The prince's unerringly focused, slightly challenging stare incited in Phendrana the urge to squirm where he sat, or to look away, but he battled back both instincts and spoke bravely – to do otherwise would be to invite ridicule, and he imagined that to entertain the Fourth Prince's respect and trust would be an invaluable, irreplaceable thing. "You are not telling us these things out of the goodness and generosity of your heart," he began in a tone of certainty, hardly swayed by the soft derisive chuckle Aglarel uttered at the words _goodness and generosity_. "You believe that the assassination attempt is somehow linked to Lim's elevated status and his deal with the High Prince. You have been watching him, haven't you? You came to us for help."

"I told you," Aveil couldn't help putting in quietly, smiling into her glass of orange juice. "He is smarter than you give him credit for – he will be invaluable to our cause, Prince. Tell him."

Again Aglarel visibly hesitated; Phendrana held his gaze, refusing to allow himself to be put off by the knowledge that Aglarel didn't expect much from him. The trust and respect he craved needed to be earned, he knew, and arguing the fact would do little to help him earn it. The Fourth Prince only broke the eye contact to glance Aveil's way, his expression skeptical. "The risk – "

"He won't betray you," the Sceptrana overrode him matter-of-factly. "It isn't in his nature."

Phendrana shot a questioning gaze Lamorak's way, suddenly grateful for his presence, but Lamorak only shrugged. How could it be that a Prince of Shade was just as out of the loop as he was?

"Fine," Aglarel spat finally in a clipped tone, abandoning his seat, "but not here. At the moment I find myself hesitant to trust Brennus with such sensitive information – and from all that I know of his limited contact with the High Prince since your return from Castle Tethyr, the High Prince feels the same. Come to Villa Hara – we will be safe enough there."

"Myself included?" Lamorak put in coolly, and Aglarel looked him over appraisingly, but not for long.

"I suppose you may as well, brother – you have heard too much not to be included now. Besides, I will need you to interpret the doppelganger's visions and to help keep him in line. From what I have seen, I am not altogether convinced of his mental stability." With those words Aglarel dissolved into his own shadow, leaving Lamorak to roll his eyes and Phendrana to sigh heavily beneath his breath.

Aveil retrieved her staff with a sympathetic expression on her face. "Do not take what he says too closely to heart," she told Phendrana reassuringly, in a voice quite unlike the one he was used to. "He does not give his trust freely to anyone, and reserves his respect only for the High Prince."

"He trusts you," Phendrana pointed out, and for some reason his words made her blanch.

"He tolerates me," she corrected sadly, and without another word she followed in the Fourth Prince's wake.

"Curious," was all Lamorak would say, and then he set off behind her. Phendrana had little choice but to pursue them – his insatiable thirst for knowledge would hardly prevent him from doing otherwise.

Villa Hara, the personal residence of Fourth Prince Aglarel and the temporary lodgings of Sceptrana Arthien, was a location Phendrana had never before had cause or reason to visit and was therefore completely unfamiliar with it; only by honing in on the unique aura that Aglarel emitted almost constantly, one that was equal parts mysterious and ominous, was Phendrana able to navigate the Shadow Realm in the direction he desired to go. Fortunately Lamorak was only a few paces in front of him so Phendrana was able to follow his slightly-distorted form most of the way, and simply stepped out of the Shadow Plane in the precise place the Determinist Prime did so. He found himself standing in what he presumed was Aglarel's bedchamber, sparsely furnished and dark save for the host of candles burning deep crimson flames upon the ebony headboard; his eye was inexorably drawn to the ornate glass cabinet in one corner in which several dozen daggers were on display, but Aveil was laying her staff aside again and Aglarel was hastily twitching the drapes shut over the balcony.

"What I am about to tell you," the Fourth Prince began in a low voice, waving them into chairs around the little-used dining table, "is in direct violation of the High Prince's mandate. We have had a great deal of debate amongst ourselves over the past lunar cycle about the motivations behind our actions and whether we will be considered traitors against the crown for all that we have done and all we have yet to do. The High Prince – as you well know, Lamorak – has ordered us all to accept the elevation of Lim Tal'eyve and to welcome him into our fold, but Aveil and I remain skeptical as to the drow's true intentions. It may be that all is as he says, and that through his alliance with the High Prince he truly means to overthrow the Spider Queen, but as the head of his personal security I cannot simply accept his claims without at least exploring the other most likely avenue – and that is that the drow is fooling our sovereign, and even now plots his overthrow."

Lamorak visibly started. "For what reason could you suspect him of such a thing?"

Aglarel spread his hands – he had neglected to join them at the table and was now standing before them, looking as though he was resisting the urge to begin pacing. "How could I not? He led a host of phaerimm into our midst, and he did it all with the Spider Queen's support – why would he forsake that and turn against her, when she has given him so much? Lim is not beholden to the Most High, he only pretends to be – it may be that I am wrong in this, but until I know for certain I will keep the drow at arm's length, and I will continue to haunt his steps until the truth becomes known to me."

"You think he has gained the High Prince's confidence with his offer to deliver the Spider Queen?" Phendrana spoke up then. "You think he will turn on him? For what reason?"

"He has done as much on numerous occasions in the past," Aveil explained, her fingernails rhythmically tapping on the table as she responded. "He allied himself with the Jaezred Chaulssin when Lolth withdrew her grace from the drow priestesses, but threw down his sword and claimed fealty when she returned. He threw in his lot with Rule of Three in Sigil, only to turn around and stab him in the back the moment the Lady of Pain had been eliminated. He took up with me when I set myself against the Citadel of Assassins, but sided with Knellict when that relationship proved more fruitful. He bore the githyanki commander Rivek the Pathfinder from the astral plane and set him upon the Bloodstone Lands, but ignored his cries for help when their conquest went sour. His alliances are fleeting, and he uses them only for personal gain – once such allegiances have run their course, he severs all ties and kills his business associates when he believes they might threaten him later. Such will be the nature of his dealings with the Most High, I am certain – he has accepted the gift of the shadow and may use it to overthrow the Spider Queen if he can, but what will happen to the High Prince if Lim manages to harness a power greater than that of our sovereign's? Can we be willing to risk the High Prince's safety, all because he has ordered us that we must obey him in this?"

Aveil's history with Lim Tal'eyve was sordid and storied enough that Phendrana did not feel the need to question her on it – her judgment where the drow was concerned was more sound than any other among them now, it seemed – but there remained one thing yet he didn't understand. "What has he done for you to suspect his intentions are less than honorable?"

"He forms troubling alliances," Aglarel admitted tersely, a sneer curling up the corner of his mouth as he recalled something less than desirable. "At first he did nothing but follow the High Prince's every command to the letter and keep from drawing any unwanted attention to himself, but when the pressures of the Most High's office began to demand more of his attention Lim began to make his first moves. Already Aveil had spied him conversing with Rapha on multiple occasions, and I have seen them together in Rapha's harem." His gaze had settled upon Lamorak when he finished, "You know as well as I that Rapha is very particular when it comes to inviting anyone into his… palace."

Lamorak shifted a little uncomfortably, it seemed, before muttering, "I do."

"And of this business with Hadrhune we knew nothing," Aveil put in, leveling her concerned expression upon Aglarel. "Though we have both been studiously avoiding him for several months now, so it has undoubtedly escaped our notice… It stands to reason that Lim took note of our distaste for Hadrhune and capitalized on that, knowing that Hadrhune would enter into an alliance with him if he thought he might have the opportunity to exact revenge upon us."

Phendrana blinked, momentarily confused. "But why would Hadrhune want to exact revenge on you?"

"By my own actions I caused his fall from the High Prince's favor," Aglarel admitted, seeming unrepentant. "He was carrying on privately with Aveil without the High Prince's permission, and the High Prince became aware of it and ordered Hadrhune's humiliation as punishment. I have made no secret of the fact that I have come to favor Aveil's ascension within the council – she has atoned for her past mistakes, and she works hard now to serve our sovereign to the best of her ability. Doubtless Hadrhune views my support as favoritism, and assumes I only intervened because I coveted what was once his."

"Preposterous," Aveil scoffed, and though she and Aglarel shared a laugh at that Phendrana couldn't help but notice they didn't meet one another's eyes.

Lamorak steered the conversation back on track then, his eyes fixed upon the table as he stroked his chin thoughtfully with one hand. "Lim will accomplish little with one Prince of Shade and one shadow sorcerer at his side." His eyes widened a bit then, and he sat up straighter in his chair. "Yder and Rivalen also left the council session this morning, shortly after Rapha stormed out."

"And many others are beginning to question the High Prince's leadership," Phendrana pointed out, remembering. "Dethud asked many questions – innocent inquiries all, but does he not usually sit by and keep his own counsel? Even Mattick and Vattick spoke up once or twice; not to mention that Melegaunt and Brennus both kept their silence throughout the entirety of the meeting, which could easily be misconstrued as lack of faith."

"You are beginning to think as we do," Aglarel congratulated him. "The seeds of doubt are being sown within the High Prince's court, and already Lim is reaping the rewards. With enough of the Princes of Shade at his back, the drow could stage a mutiny. We could stand against them, it is true, but even if we were to win… Never in the history of the Tanthul dynasty has one brother raised sword against his kin with the intention of ending his brother's life. Everything that we have ever known will change."

There was silence for a moment as they all considered the implications of such a bleak future, until Lamorak looked up and said, "But if Lim intends to betray the High Prince, why would a drow assassin come to Thultanthar at all? Is the incident an isolated one, or are all these events somehow connected?"

"The Spider Queen would only send her emissaries against us if Lim had truly forsaken her," Phendrana pointed out, and Aglarel nodded assent.

"I have already arrived at a similar conclusion, but can _both_ events not come to pass? It may be that the drow has cast his lot in with the High Prince with every intention of destroying Lolth for now, but who is to say that he won't turn against our sovereign once he has achieved that end? I cannot help but think this arrangement is one of convenience for Lim… the High Prince is useful to him now, but who can say for how long?"

"So you are saying," Lamorak began haltingly, with the air of one who is having great difficulty comprehending something, "that even though the Most High has commanded us all to accept Lim Tal'eyve's elevation without issue you are monitoring all of his movements and even now suspecting him of conspiracy and assumed treason?"

"That is precisely what I'm saying," Aglarel confirmed with a somewhat undignified snort, and there was a challenge in his tone of voice that made Phendrana anxious. "You can aid us in these matters or present them to the High Prince at your leisure, but I must warn you – Aveil and I have already agreed that we would see this through to the end, for good or ill. If you choose to stand against us, we will retaliate in kind."

Aveil raised her head a fraction higher, and for a moment her face reflected the superiority that until very recently had been her characteristic expression. "We will protect the High Prince," she agreed, fierce loyalty apparent in her every syllable, "no matter the cost."

Lamorak shifted uncomfortably, and though his response was half-formed it was clear the rest would not be favorable. "I am not certain I feel entirely comfortable with – "

But Phendrana overrode him before he had ample opportunity to complete his sentence. "What is it you're asking us to do?"

Aglarel narrowed his eyes dangerously. "I will be frank with you – I had never intended to come to you, of all people, with this proposal. However, shortly following the foiled assassination attempt Aveil petitioned me to include you in our inner workings; I had thought to refuse, but hearing of the accuracy of your visions and seeing that you single-handedly thwarted an attempt on the High Prince's life I find myself being forced to reconsider. I would ask that you help us in our endeavors – continue to make the well-being of the High Prince and his subjects a priority and, knowing that Lim Tal'eyve may very well pose a threat to our sovereign, assist us in thwarting him wherever we deem that necessary."

"This is radical," Lamorak put in disapprovingly. "Too radical for you, Aglarel. Never have you placed yourself in a situation that might bring your loyalty into question, but this? You understand if you are wrong, the punishment is treason. The High Prince himself kills those who oppose the crown."

Suddenly Aveil had leapt from her seat, eyes glittering with white-hot rage and color rising into her cheeks; Phendrana felt taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor, which he felt was unprovoked until she began to speak. "And if we stand by and do nothing, knowing that by remaining idle we may doom the High Prince to whatever fate the drow might fashion for him?! What then?! Are you willing to step aside, watching and waiting for some ill to befall him?! Will we not be just as doomed to suffer punishment if it is found that we suspected a plot against him but failed to act because we were _afraid_?!"

"Aveil!" Aglarel snapped at once, his voice like the crack of a whip, but for once Aveil chose not to heed him.

"No! They need to hear this!" She ground her teeth in frustration and clenched her hands into tight fists at her sides, fingernails digging into her palms hard enough to puncture the flesh, and though Phendrana winced he found he was in awe of her courage perhaps for the first time since they had met. "This is _your_ way of life – don't you care that this _outsider_ now holds the potential to threaten it?! Do you not realize that if we fail to act and you are all utterly _destroyed_ , that your entire civilization will become extinct all on account of your stupidity?!"

Lamorak sucked in a breath to respond scathingly, his face contorted with rage; with Aglarel bearing down upon Aveil looking murderous, Phendrana found himself leaping to her aid. Looking back he knew that it was foolish to make such a snap decision based upon his emotions alone and not a logical overview of the facts presented, but in that moment all he was aware of was the fierce pride and protectiveness in Aveil's face and the surge of inspiration it incited within his chest. This was the way that he felt about Thultanthar, the city where he had began his life anew and pledged himself completely to the advancement and glory of a higher power that he adored. How could he turn his back upon her, knowing that she had found the same?

"I will help you," Phendrana told her, "and for my part, I am grateful that you chose to come to me with these concerns. I will do everything that is in my power to keep the High Prince safe. The consequences mean nothing to me – this is all I have ever desired to live for."

"Phendrana – " Lamorak began, somehow disheartened, but the doppelganger would hear no more.

"No," he said gently, holding up one hand to stay the rest of the Third Prince's protests. "Please. Surely _you_ of all people can understand why I must do this, Prince? It is _because_ of people like you that I must do all that I can to help unravel this plot and to put an end to it, if that is what is needed of me. The High Prince has given me everything – his trust, his respect, all these worldly possessions that I do not need and all this power that I feel I could never deserve – and you have given me your time and consideration when everyone else might have turned their backs on my plight. All of those things are worth preserving, aren't they? Were I to refuse this request, it would mean that I never cared for all that I have been given in the first place – and I do care. More than anything, I want to do my part."

Aglarel was on his feet now, and though he didn't appear any less angry it seemed to Phendrana that his fury was better contained. "Then rest assured I will be in touch when I have further use for you," he told Phendrana tersely, and then he turned his eyes upon Lamorak, who held up one hand as if in reassurance.

"I will keep your secrets," said the Third Prince softly, "but only because I feel you have the High Prince's best interests in mind at all times. Should it ever seem that this ceases to be the case, however – "

"I understand," Aglarel cut him off impatiently. "I would ask that you leave now, but _you_ – " He was pointing at Aveil accusingly, "Stay. I think we have plenty to discuss."

Phendrana didn't need telling twice, and Lamorak seemed just as eager to escape; they moved to the Shadow Realm together, unspeaking as they made their way back to Villa Tareia, looking anywhere but at each other until they had set foot within Phendrana's private quarters again.

That was when the doppelganger turned to face Lamorak with a sad smile, for he knew that their camaraderie was coming to a close. The Third Prince had recovered his typical clinical demeanor, surveying Phendrana as a doctor might regard a patient, and with a pang of regret Phendrana wondered for the first time if he was the only one who had considered their relationship to be anything other than coolly professional.

"Will you not reconsider?" Lamorak probed, a hint of desperation in his voice, and while Phendrana found himself smiling at the prince's concern he knew there was only one real answer.

"Will you?"

Lamorak opened and closed his mouth several times, doubt and resolution chasing themselves around in his eyes, and the obvious struggle made Phendrana wonder if he had been wrong to assume anything about the other man. "I may," he said at last, and though his answer was vague the doppelganger couldn't help but appreciate his honesty. "If you should come by some proof of these allegations, some way to be certain that Lim is plotting against the Most High… Then of course I would be most willing to support this cause. Until then, I'm afraid…"

"Until then," Phendrana repeated, to save him the trouble of continuing in the face of such discomfort.

Still the Determinist Prime hesitated. "You will continue to come to the Guild for your evaluations, and your lessons?"

Phendrana tossed him a wink and laughed softly to himself. "Of course. Apparently my mental stability is in question."

Lamorak couldn't help but laugh along with him at that, but it was brief and the concern never truly left his eyes. It seemed as though there remained yet one thought he wished to share; he stood there battling with it for a moment longer before plucking up the courage to say, "Do not give up on Brennus yet. I spoke with him little but it is clear to me that there are other forces at work here, some outside influence that fuels his rage. He is a mean creature on the outside, that much is true, but beneath that he is a broken man."

"I understand," Phendrana murmured with a sad little smile, "but I cannot afford to think of that now."

"Take great care, Phendrana," Lamorak warned somberly, sensing that the time to depart was upon him, and then he was gone and Phendrana was alone again.

The urge to stand glaring at Brennus's closed door gripped him in its clutches, instinctive and strong, but Phendrana had only to remember the look of undiluted fear with which the Twelfth Prince had regarded him only hours ago to sublimate it.

* * *

The moment they were alone Aglarel seized Aveil by the elbow with one hand and dragged her around to face him, his grip tight enough to make her muscles ache and her fingertips tingle with lack of circulation. Though the look in his eyes suggested he was contemplating murder she stood her ground, glaring up at him with every ounce of malice she could muster into her expression and pretending for all the world that she wasn't at all intimidated by his much-taller frame; though Aglarel was by no means the tallest of his brothers, at three or four inches above six feet he still dwarfed her five-foot body by a considerable amount. She attempted to tug her arm free but he snarled at her, the noise animalistic and feral, the crimson candlelight glinting ominously off his ceremonial fangs.

"Now would seem a very poor time for you to fall back into your old habits," sneered the Fourth Prince distastefully. "To speak to a Prince of Shade in such a disrespectful manner – I had thought such foolish behavior was beneath you!"

"I will not take back a single word!" the Sceptrana spat. "Would that I had the courage to say as much to the rest of your brothers as well! Lim Tal'eyve takes what he wants using a few manipulative words and just as many beguiling promises, and the High Prince's court succumbs to division when we ought to be standing up to this menace! Mortals live in fear of the City of Shade – they pass beneath its shadow over the hellish sands of Anauroch and haven't the courage to raise their eyes to the heavens even to glimpse it, and yet most of you are too cowardly to treat this would-be usurper with the suspicion he has earned! Thank the Gods that the High Prince has _you_ , and you are willing to sacrifice whatever is asked of you to preserve this way of life!"

"Your mistreatment of my brother has cost us what may have been a useful ally," Aglarel reminded her, his tone low and dangerous. "And let us not forget that now he knows _everything_ , and has the option of divulging the truth of our movements to the High Prince whenever he deems it most profitable to himself! I _told_ you this would turn sour, but you _insisted_ , you damnable wretch!"

Aveil narrowed her eyes, stoically ignoring the uncomfortable numb sensation of her now-lifeless fingers. "And you might have refused me, but you took my advice."

"Because I value your opinion," Aglarel growled, an admittance that seemed to cause him pain, "though the Night Mother knows why."

Aveil knew better than to accept such a compliment without acknowledging it – the Fourth Prince was secretive in his conduct and granted his trust to only a select few, and to take such a precious thing for granted would not be wise. She allowed the tension to ease out of her body, though of course she was terrified in no small part at being in such close proximity to his rage, and forced her expression to soften. "And that is a great honor. All that I have told you is true – and did the doppelganger not pledge to aid us, just as I suggested he might? Besides, Prince Lamorak swore to keep your silence – he will not betray you, unless he becomes somehow convinced that your cause threatens the High Prince in some way."

Aglarel was hardly placated by this, and the disdain in his voice told her as much. "So we have broken our silence all on account of one doppelganger. Forgive me if I do not rejoice."

"That 'one doppelganger' single-handedly saved the High Prince's life just hours ago," Aveil reminded solemnly, "yet you are still not convinced of his usefulness? The High Prince acknowledges his worth despite his mind's obvious flaws, and a good thing too – had he chosen to cast him out after Brennus turned him to the shadow, our sovereign would be dead now and the enclave likely in chaos. Who knows what havoc Lim might have wrecked in the wake of the High Prince's death?"

That at last seemed to pierce through the last of the Fourth Prince's residual anger – Aveil was certain she witnessed the reason returning to his eyes, and seemingly as an afterthought he released her. The Sceptrana breathed an inaudible sigh of relief when the familiar sensation of blood pumping into her arm revitalized her fingers but she did not distance herself from him, for there was a curiosity in his eyes the likes of which she had never glimpsed and it was intriguing enough to keep her rooted where she stood. Aveil was certain he intended to speak but the words didn't come, lost somewhere in the sudden unexplainable turmoil in his eyes, and when she found that she could no longer stay silent beneath the weight of his intense gaze she opened her mouth only for him to speak first. "Why did you say all those things to Lamorak?"

She shrugged her diminutive shoulders, the motion sending a ripple through her charcoal-gray arcanist's robes. "Why wouldn't I? He was blind to the severity of the situation so I chose to enlighten him. I would have said as much to anyone if I thought it might make them understand the just nature of our cause."

Aglarel snorted down at her, hardly convinced. "Thultanthar is not your home, Sceptrana – you have no real attachments to this place. As I recall it has been both your prison and your tomb in the not-so-distant past. For you to strive so gallantly to protect it is somewhat… out of character for you."

"It is still not my home," Aveil admitted quietly. "And perhaps it will never be my home, but it is the one place where I have found forgiveness, and acceptance, and purpose. I think that is one of the traits that so sets the High Prince above other worldly kings – not only is he willing to forgive those who have transgressed against him, but he is always able to see their true potential and offer them a place for their talents when they have proved themselves deserving of it." Aglarel's eyes were fixed upon her face so intently that she was certain he did not overlook the misty quality her eyes had taken on when she finished, "I have never found such things in all my travels or hardships – I have been given only my just desserts, all of which I have rightfully earned, and nothing more. But forgiveness changes a person, Prince, and the kindness of your sovereign has so changed me."

"Forgive me," Aglarel muttered, his voice far gruffer than usual for some reason. "I fear I am still unused to this version of you that is not conniving, and manipulative, and argumentative, and deceitful."

It was a measure of just how far Aveil had come that she laughed in the face of all those qualities she knew well enough had characterized her to the letter not so long ago. "I did not realize you thought so highly of me!" she jested dryly, even going so far as to toss a wink his way, and though he did not smile the shape of Aglarel's eyes changed in a way that suggested he was amused.

"Lamorak will keep his silence," Aglarel said aloud, as much to her as to himself. "We must count on that, or our entire operation will be compromised before we have accomplished anything. The doppelganger – "

"Phendrana," Aveil insisted with a huff, and the Fourth Prince actually rolled his eyes.

" – Has said he will help us, and you had better believe I will hold him to that promise in the days to come." His expression changed then, grew harder and more serious. "Do not think that I mean to trivialize the fate that the doppelganger – oh for the love of Shar, _Phendrana_ \- has envisioned for you, but if we are certain it will not come to pass until the masquerade I will not focus on it just yet. It seems we now have other deaths we must prevent, the timelines of which are not as well known."

"I agree," said Aveil fervently. "That which we do not know should take precedence."

Aglarel squared his shoulders and at last put a little space between them, and Aveil took what felt like her first real breath in a long time; his expression was clouded, contemplative. "Phendrana is alone in his vision and unable to stand against the drow he is meant to face – I would ask that you keep an eye on him, since you favor his cause. It may be that through your presence alone the attempt on his life might be foiled."

"And you?" Aveil was frowning. "You are in no less danger – more, I think, since your demise wears the High Prince's face. How will you know when it is the Most High who stands before you, and when it is your own killer?"

Aglarel heaved a sigh, clearly displeased with the prospect of coming to blows with his beloved sovereign and father, and dropped his gaze unwillingly to the ground. "I can attempt to avoid situations which leave me alone with him, but I suspect not for long – the real High Prince might come to view my behavior as suspicious, and that is something we cannot afford given our delicate position between him and Lim Tal'eyve. I may have no choice but to trust to my instincts and my judgment when I am in his presence, and hope that that is enough to keep me from harm."

Aveil's eyes were grave. "I cannot say I approve of your methods."

"Have you a better option?" Aglarel fired back, and Aveil squared her jaw stubbornly.

"We may yet be able to convince Lamorak to help us," she told him, but it was obvious in the way she cast about for words that she was grasping at straws.

Aglarel shook his head. "I believe you have said quite enough to my brother today. For now it is enough that he has agreed not to expose us."

"Then I will help you."

"Have I not already given you your instructions for the days to come?" Seeing another protest brewing in the Sceptrana's eyes, Aglarel hurried on to derail her swiftly-mounting tirade. "Enough, Aveil, I'll hear no more on the subject. I warned you that it would be like this from the moment you cast your lot in with me against the drow – a life of secrets fraught with lies and thankless sacrifices. You agreed that you could handle all that we might face and I took you at your word, for I assumed you were strong enough to stand with me. Was I wrong?"

If there was one thing Aveil could not stand it was admitting that she had been wrong about something, and she never admitted defeat in the face of a challenge; she crossed her arms haughtily over her chest and automatically jutted out one hip as she glared at him, and for a moment Aglarel was reminded of the vindictive little snow elf spellcaster he had dealt with for the first time at the Citadel of Assassins. Somehow it was reassuring to know that the old Aveil was still buried down deep in there somewhere – her insubordination, her sarcasm, and her innately conniving nature gave him a great deal of amusement most of the time, not to mention it was a nice departure from the often mundane routine of day-to-day life. He could feel himself smirking down at her, the challenge apparent for her to see, and was certain it weighed heavily into her response. "No, you weren't wrong. I said I would help and I meant it."

"Good." His demeanor shifted again, his expression growing dour. "Now tell me about Lim and Hadrhune."

They had had barely half a minute to plan their next moves when the council session had come to a close, just long enough for Aglarel to concede that Phendrana's visions might be vital to their success and set Aveil to spy upon the unlikely duo of Hadrhune and Lim Tal'eyve. The tense set of her shoulders and her too-vacant expression had given her away, clear indicators into the depths of her discomfort at taking on such a task, but she had scarcely complained and Aglarel hadn't had time to bolster her resolve; it hadn't escaped his notice that she had been pale and rattled when he had summoned her to Phendrana's chambers, and he knew that there was an explanation there.

Aveil heaved a sigh and all but flung herself down into a slouched position on the edge of Aglarel's bed, her hair momentarily concealing her face as she gazed down at the carpet underfoot; the Fourth Prince made a quiet noise of dissent beneath his breath but otherwise didn't protest to her familiarity, deciding for the moment that she might be of more use to him if she was comfortable. Despite the earliness of the hour he poured her a meager glass of Netherese heartwine – the Sceptrana of Thultanthar thought a little more concisely with the taste of wine upon her tongue. "I was able to shadow them to the Church of Shar, though not without difficulty," she confessed, accepting the glass gratefully and taking a modest sip. "They speak little in public, but they make no secret of the fact that they are on amiable terms."

Aglarel's brow furrowed as he set the wine decanter aside. "What business could either of them possibly have at the Church?"

"I wondered that myself," Aveil admitted tersely, "until I saw them approach Rivalen and Yder."

The Fourth Prince surveyed her incredulously, incapable of speaking for several moments. The implications of such a meeting could easily spell doom for not only his and Aveil's agenda, but for all of Thultanthar; the thought was enough to incite within him the sensation that blood had frozen in his veins, though of course he hadn't been possessed of such a thing for centuries. "If they have cast their lot in with Lim," he said at length, his voice uncharacteristically grim, "then the situation is far more dire than we could ever have imagined. With the support of the High Prince's second eldest son Lim could easily stage a mutiny."

"Both continue to support the advancement of Hadrhune," Aveil reported, "but I am pleased to say that they seem to hold little love for Lim. The conversation was brief, and Rivalen sent them away looking anything but pleased by the encounter. I couldn't hear what passed between them, but I doubt any alliance has been agreed upon at this point in time."

"Shar be praised that Rivalen is still possessed of his good sense," Aglarel murmured beneath his breath. "I am glad to hear of it, but that does not explain your state of unease when I summoned you."

Aveil quaffed a slightly larger sip of wine; Aglarel watched her intake carefully, certain they were arriving at the crux of the matter. It was with great trepidation that she at last confided, "They were aware of my presence."

"How?" Aglarel pressed. "Surely you weren't so foolish as to reveal yourself?"

"Your vote of confidence is most heartening," she told him dryly, her violet eyes slits of disdain within her heart-shaped face. "No, in the chapel I took refuge in the central balcony, crouched down beneath the first row of pews – I am certain I was out of sight, yet when they took their leave of your brothers they scaled the steps to the balcony and set to wandering through the pews, starting at the back."

"Did they say anything?" growled the Fourth Prince.

Aveil nodded and finished off her wine, her eyes fixed longingly upon the decanter when she said, "Yes – they called my name, laughing all the while, chiding me, attempting to lure me out. When they drew too near for my liking I escaped into the Shadow Realm, but almost immediately after I felt their presences both lurking nearby and knew that I was being followed. It was then that you summoned me, and so I ran." She kept her composure well, but Aglarel was highly observant and did not miss the little changes in her posture that spoke volumes into her discomfort – her fingertips were white upon the glass she held, her breathing had accelerated slightly during the retelling, and her pupils were slightly dilated. For some reason he couldn't explain, the knowledge that she was terrified made him angry.

"Aveil," he called out to her, his voice soft and somehow ragged. "Are you alright?"

Her eyes darted to him swiftly and she rearranged her expression, eyes growing hard, face becoming unreadable; Aglarel gazed back at her, unsure of what to say, knowing that she was hiding the truth of her feelings but unable to coax them out of her. She didn't want to seem weak in front of him, he presumed, which was just as well – the Fourth Prince wasn't an emotional being, approaching every situation with a characteristic cool detachment, and Aveil was quite the opposite. Strangely he found that he wanted her to confide in him, but hadn't the slightest clue how to convey such an unfamiliar desire.

"Of course," Aveil told him lightly, forcing a smile onto her face, and she rose sinuously to her feet and placed the glass beside the decanter before taking up her staff, all traces of fear wiped clean of her face, all business again. "I'll seek them out again and see what I might learn."

"No," Aglarel found himself saying. "Don't. Stay here and rest – I will go myself. The hour is early and you have slept little – you're no use to me without rest, and we will need our wits about us for the ceremony later today. With so much commotion, another assassin could slip easily into our midst."

It was clear by her expression that she wanted to argue, but exhaustion won out in the end and Aveil conceded. "Call upon me if there is anything you require before the ceremony," she requested. "I will help you as best I may."

Aglarel chose not to reply, instead watching silently as she shadow walked out of his private quarters. The moment she was gone he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, vexed by all that had transpired, and resolved to wait a little while before advancing on Hadrhune and Lim. His temper was a frightful thing… There was no telling what he might do if he lost control of it.

* * *

"Must you always look so morose?" sighed Lim Tal'eyve, the hint of a childish whine in his voice, and Hadrhune gritted his teeth and barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

He had reluctantly agreed to accompany his unlikely companion to Rapha's harem after their impromptu meeting with Rivalen and Yder had failed to play out in their favor, and was already wishing that he had declined the offer and returned to the College and his studies; in life Lim had proved to be a dynamic being whose enthusiasm for physical pleasures seemed impossible to contain within his body, with a voracious appetite for knowledge and politics and war and a lust that couldn't be satiated. He frequented taverns in the Lower District and mingled with the common people, behavior that was becoming habitual and that Hadrhune looked upon with great distaste – shades could become inebriated, of course, but given the extraplanar composition of their bodies it was nearly an impossible task and besides, what good were they to the High Prince when their minds were muddled with drink? The drow would drink and eat and dance and sing and whore every moment he was not otherwise occupied with his studies at the College or some manner of council business, and Hadrhune found such a lifestyle exhausting. If he was prepared to be perfectly honest with himself, he almost wished he had never agreed to help Lim in the first place.

Almost.

Hadrhune sighed and hitched his shoulders irritably, half-glaring down at Lim where he reclined against a mound of decorative tasseled pillows. The drow had both arms flung over his head, interlocked fingers supporting his neck, lounging languidly as though he hadn't a care in the world; he had discarded his armor and piwafwi and had a giggling harem girl lolling on either side of him, one kneading the muscles of his shoulders and the other unlacing his tunic at a leisurely pace. Hadrhune hated it here – really, genuinely hated it.

Most of the time.

"I haven't the time to lounge about all day long, engaging in idle pleasantries," the seneschal snapped, steadfastly ignoring the scantily-clad harem girl that trailed her index finger along his shoulder blades as she passed. "You promised me an explanation, and I am still waiting for you to deliver."

"Look around you!" Lim exclaimed raucously, gesturing wildly about their surroundings with one hand with the air of one revealing something grand, but whatever majesty he saw in their current environment was lost on Hadrhune. "I am almost ashamed to call you my companion," he chastised with a sly wink. "It is bad manners to feign disinterest in a pleasure palace such as this!"

"If you have no interest in telling me what you promised," Hadrhune overrode him, pretending he hadn't heard a single word, "then I will take my leave. I should be attending the High Prince."

The mocking laugh that was Lim's initial response made Hadrhune's blood boil, and unthinkingly he gouged his thumbnail into the worn groove in the shaft of his darkstaff; Lim propped himself up onto his elbows, his face filled with a kind of malicious mischievousness. "Oh, Hadrhune, it really is precious how you continue to delude yourself, but you and I both know that the High Prince has no use for you. He reserves all his favor for others now. When will you learn that?"

"He has forgiven me for my transgressions," Hadrhune found himself saying for what seemed like the hundredth time, and even he was getting tired of hearing it. "He has said he is willing to place his trust in me again."

Lim allowed himself to fall back against his pillows again, throwing one arm theatrically over his eyes. "Because he is a wise ruler who knows full well that his promises keep you close. Believe me, my friend, for this is one thing that I know – trust cannot always be earned. Sometimes it must be _taken_." Predictably Hadrhune opened his mouth to protest, to stumble through yet another repeat performance of one of the same tired old excuses, but this time he floundered in silence before closing his mouth and glaring down at Lim as though resigned to hearing what he had to say.

 _Finally_ , Lim thought victoriously to himself. He had been waiting for this moment. Merely to placate Hadrhune he said airily, "Very well, I will tell you what you wish to know – it seems the only way I can keep your attention, despite the other tempting stimuli I have surrounded you with."

"I will hear what you have to say on the subject of taking trust afterward," Hadrhune promised, and Lim nodded in agreement, secretly pleased; he gestured to the mound of pillows across from him with a lazy wave of one hand, and though the tension in his posture remained the seneschal condescended to sit down. Well, at least that was something.

"You waste your energy being angry with me over the assassin, and you insult me with your assumptions that I had anything to do with that sordid affair in the first place," Lim sniffed, doing his very best to seem offended when in truth he was simply amused. "How could I have known my people would begin cropping up in our midst with murderous intentions? We are seldom apart – you would have noticed my absence."

"Perhaps you didn't know," Hadrhune conceded reluctantly, "but you guessed."

One of the harem girls was unlacing Lim's breeches, but the drow slapped her hand away. "Darling, please – business before pleasure." Then he rolled his eyes Hadrhune's way. "Of course I guessed – I would be a fool not to. I am far away now from the Spider Queen's influence but never far from her sight – it was only a matter of time before she caught wind of my accord with your sovereign and retaliated in kind. I was prepared for her agents to seek me out, but to attempt murder on the High Prince of Thultanthar? Who could ever have imagined that they would be so bold?"

"Do you know the purpose behind the attack?" Hadrhune pressed, and Lim snorted disgracefully.

"Of course I don't – unless the Spider Queen's chosen assassin somehow mistook the Most High for myself, in which case I do believe she needs to choose her agents a little more carefully."

"You play dangerous games that I do not enjoy," Hadrhune informed him gravely. "Games the nature of which I am not certain I wish to be a part of."

Lim yawned widely as though bored. "You are referring to our meeting with Rivalen and Yder? They are skeptical now, but they will come around more quickly than you can imagine. Their hesitance to offer their support stems from the attack on the High Prince, nothing more. They assume, like you do, that I had a hand in that plot – when I can convince them otherwise, their opinions will change." Lim smiled then as though he was hardly concerned with the matter and finished, "You didn't think they would all be as easy to cow as dear Rapha, did you?"

Hadrhune continued to glare back at him, aware of just how similar they appeared physically and hating the drow all the more for it. "You have nothing to offer them," he reminded scathingly. "You promised Rapha the bloody conflict he has long hoped for, and to me you have promised vengeance. How will you win over the pious sons of the Church of Shar?"

"With Lolth." Hadrhune blinked; it was clear in his blank expression that this wasn't the response he had been expecting. "Those who are as devout as they are will be interested in only one thing – pleasing their goddess, Shar. And what could please the Night Mother more than throwing the Spider Queen, her most eternally hated rival, to her feet in chains?"

"They will inform the Most High of your proposal, and we will all be ruined," Hadrhune pointed out with certainty.

"They will do nothing of the sort," Lim shot back. "They will wait and watch. The intrigue is too strong."

"You don't _have_ Lolth," Hadrhune reminded bluntly.

"But I will."

"When?"

"When the time is right."

Hadrhune heaved a melodramatic sigh. "I grow tired of speaking in riddles. _How_?"

"There is something that I need," Lim confided, his voice low and conspiratorial now. "But it is not yet within my possession, and until it is I can hardly act."

"What is it?"

"That would spoil the surprise."

The shadow sorcerer made a show of scanning their surroundings with exaggerated care before saying, "It would seem you aren't looking very hard."

"I don't need to look," Lim scoffed, as though the mere notion were simply preposterous. "I am not a man fumbling helplessly in the dark. I know where it is, but it is inaccessible to me."

"And do you expect it will simply fall into your lap?" Hadrhune sneered impatiently.

"Are you being deliberately obtuse? Of course I'm not. Someone is bringing it to me."

They stared one another down, Lim with amused delight dancing in his eyes and Hadrhune with no small amount of malice; it was clear that the seneschal was struggling within himself, fighting to keep from asking the obvious question, but the intrigue was too strong and he gave up quickly. "Who?"

Lim spread his hands, a smirk playing across his lips, and admitted, "Even I do not know some things, but don't fret over this – it will all make sense, in time."

Hadrhune narrowed his eyes. "You try my patience." Leaning his weight upon his staff he clambered to his feet then, adding, "I am through with your enigmas. You make promises you do not intend to keep, and you will be the downfall of us all."

"No," Lim corrected, "I try your patience because you have none. I have told you only the truth here, yet you refuse to believe it – everything I have said I intend to see through to the end. That's why you're here, isn't it? Because I told you that I could help you make Aglarel and Aveil suffer for all they have done to you?" He paused, awaiting further scathing remarks, but Hadrhune was silent now, listening. "They are already doing it to themselves, Hadrhune – scurrying about in the dark on their assumptions, weaving intricate webs, spreading their networks thin while they struggle to keep us under surveillance, but what have we done besides meet in this harem and discuss my promises? It's only a matter of time before the High Prince himself sniffs out their designs to bring me down – completely unprovoked, of course, I have no intention of ever openly opposing them - and when he does they will be ruined by no actions of ours. They will pry, and we will continue to scheme, but there is nothing for them to learn because we haven't done anything yet. And every minute they spend together they draw dangerously closer to the very same scenario that was your undoing, don't they? Aglarel may be the strongest among you, even I can't deny that, but he is still just a man and men are prone to succumbing to their desires. It will be no different with him, I assure you. As for Aveil… Well, I daresay the High Prince won't abide a second offense of this magnitude, now will he?"

Still Hadrhune said nothing, but that suited Lim just fine – the anticipation in his eyes was answer enough.

"Jessa!" called Lim triumphantly, snapping his fingers, and the harem girl who had brushed provocatively by Hadrhune not long ago sauntered over and draped herself sensually against Hadrhune's side. "My friend is looking unnecessarily tense, wouldn't you say?" Then he tossed a casual wink the seneschal's way, saying, "Do try to enjoy yourself this time, won't you? Now ladies… where were we?"

In the end, Hadrhune didn't resist. He was still just a man, after all, and more than surrendering to his desires he simply wanted not to think for a little while.


	8. Banding Together

Phendrana slept until Lux woke him sometime well past midday with the news that he had a visitor. He had fallen asleep in his luminous adamantine mail and looked positively disheveled, and though the moon ivy dressing was holding admirably his starmetal wound still ached; hurriedly he discarded his mail and dressed down in his dark robes trimmed in silver, trying and failing not to remember just who had bestowed that particular gift upon him. His bed was unmade and his stomach rumbling when Lux returned wearing a grave, somehow apologetic expression that Phendrana didn't understand until his housekeeper stepped back to admit his visitor.

It was Lim Tal'eyve, wearing an expression of quiet confidence and perfect relaxation as though he hadn't a care in the world. He swept into a majestic bow – Phendrana gaped at the back of his head, open-mouthed with shock – before straightening up and offering the doppelganger a smile.

"Lord Phendrana," he began graciously, his amber eyes twinkling with goodwill and a hint of mischief. "I have come to congratulate you on the glorious titles the High Prince has a mind to bestow upon you today. Mind of the Most High… Hero of Thultanthar… lofty accolades both, and well-deserved as I understand it. You must be proud."

Phendrana gazed back at him blankly for what he knew was far too long, working to keep his face neutral as opposed to betraying the very real confusion and mistrust that churned deep within the pit of his stomach. Honestly he was quite mystified – he had only seen the drow once and that had been less than twenty four hours ago, not to mention that they could hardly be considered anything more than mere acquaintances. What could he possibly want? The doppelganger wasn't foolish enough to believe the drow's genteel act even for a moment – he knew well enough what Lim was capable of, and Aglarel and Aveil's warnings still rang fresh in his ears.

Mercifully Lux moved gracefully past him then, pressing his cherubic hand to the small of Phendrana's back as he passed under the pretense of straightening the tangled bed sheets; that simple gesture was enough to prompt his response, for he had allowed far too much time to elapse between the drow's seemingly innocuous inquiry and his own reply.

"Yes," Phendrana said at last, his voice hoarse with sleep and vague with confusion. "Very proud."

"You are a credit to the High Prince in every way," said Lim indulgently, his too-wide smile sending a shudder down Phendrana's spine as he cast his gaze politely yet curiously around the room; Phendrana wished he'd had the good sense to discard his armor in the washroom, and not on the floor of his private quarters in plain sight. The drow's demeanor shifted expertly then, a little crease forming between his brows as a singular dark thought clouded his mood, and added, "Why, when I think of what ill may have befallen the Most High were it not for your gifts… The very thought makes me shudder! How fortunate we are that you were knowledgeable and courageous enough to act in his defense!"

Phendrana couldn't help wondering just how much of this conversation had been rehearsed beforehand, but knew it would be far from prudent to ask such a thing and so swallowed back his disdainful query. "I merely performed as is expected of me," he said instead. "The High Prince has given me much, and all in exchange for nothing but my loyalty to him – he deserves all that I am capable of in return."

"Would that we were all possessed of your modesty and virtue," said Lim with a kind of whimsical sigh that was in no way in keeping with all that Phendrana knew of him. "I daresay that you found last night's opposition to your heroism quite distasteful – I know that for my part I was incensed on your behalf. For the Most High's own sons to treat you with such disrespect when you risked your life to keep their father from harm… Such reactions are blasphemous. Unforgivable."

The fog of fatigue blanketing Phendrana's mind at last lifted, and not a moment too soon; Phendrana stared back at Lim with a vacant expression as he processed the drow's words, scrutinizing them for their true meaning. Lim took the doppelganger's silence for agreement and continued on.

"I confess – I am fascinated by your dreams," said the drow conspiratorially, with the air of one who has just divulged a closely-kept secret. "To think that anyone could see such things with such clarity, _and_ interpret them well enough to know precisely when to act to stave off disaster! A rare, precious gift, to be sure." He surveyed Phendrana with open curiosity then, not even bothering to hide his intrigue; Phendrana did his best to look nonplussed by such unwanted attention, when in reality the drow's too-interested stare caused him great discomfort. When next Lim spoke it was in a hushed tone of exaggerated secrecy. "I wonder, have you had any other fascinating dreams?"

"No," said Phendrana, a beat too quickly.

To his surprise, Lim chortled merrily into the back of his hand. "Of course you haven't," he agreed bemusedly, but his eyes were sharp when he added, "If you had that would mean you were withholding information from the Most High, wouldn't it? And you would never do anything like that – chivalrous, upstanding citizen that you are."

Phendrana just gazed back at him helplessly, quite at a loss for words.

"Though if you should find yourself having more dreams of a similar nature," Lim continued thoughtfully, dropping his voice to a harsh rasp and moving a step or two nearer to Phendrana. "Perhaps it would behoove you to share them with me. Now that I have seen what you are capable of I think I am justified in saying that we would make ideal allies – it is a hard life that we have chosen for ourselves, aspiring toward greatness within a society that prefers to promote the interests of those with a favorable birthright, but we seem to be up to the task so far, don't we?" He tossed Phendrana a playful wink then and finished, "I am like you, my friend – the High Prince's well being is also very close to my heart, and I would risk much to preserve him. I think we could benefit from one another's company – at least if you were to confide in me, I would see to it that none of the Most High's progeny opposed you ever again."

"That is a generous offer indeed," Phendrana acknowledged. "I will certainly take that into consideration should I find myself afflicted with more of the same."

"See that you do," was Lim's parting note, accompanied by yet another menacing, saccharine-sweet smile, and with a sweep of his piwafwi he let himself out.

Phendrana stared wonderingly after him, adrenaline burning away the last of his exhaustion. Lim Tal'eyve _here_ , offering praises and promises of aid? It had been the last thing Phendrana had expected – after all, what did he have to offer that would seem appealing to someone like Lim? He wasn't treacherous in nature, he preferred to follow rather than lead, he had never been one to question authority and he felt he could scarcely fit in with Lim's constant scheming. The drow hadn't outright asked him for anything, for which Phendrana was exceedingly grateful – he was terrified of Aglarel and he mistrusted Aveil very much, but he thought he understood their motives well enough and knew he wouldn't have betrayed them to Lim no matter the price. Yet it seemed Lim had an uncanny way of coming by information he wouldn't otherwise be privy to, and Phendrana shuddered to think what might happen if Lim knew that the Fourth Prince and the Sceptrana were conspiring against him.

He wasn't at all surprised when a tentative knock sounded upon the door and Lux admitted himself; the boy came and went with barely a sound, and had somehow managed to exit after tidying up. He closed the door quietly behind him and took note of the puzzlement clouding Phendrana's expression, even picking up the traces of fear and suspicion. "Lord Phendrana, that was most irregular."

"Just _Phendrana_ ," the doppelganger reminded with a note of exasperation, and Lux nodded in earnest.

"Of course. Phendrana." He pitched his voice lower. "Forgive me for saying so, but that was a most unexpected visit – and you did not seem at all happy with the intrusion."

"I confess," said the mindmaster with a heavy sigh, "that I find myself exhausted by the intricacies of the inner workings transpiring all around me. Lamorak keeps me at arms' length, though I am certain he does so because he remembers well what happened to the last Prince of Shade who wound up too close to me. Lim forges troubling alliances - though for what reason he chooses to surround himself with such powerful friends I can only speculate – but feigns loyalty when he finds himself in the High Prince's company. Aveil has sworn herself to the service of Aglarel, and together they conspire to eliminate those who might threaten the Most High – though the High Prince himself has forbidden anyone to oppose Lim outright." He found himself looking to Lux for guidance, though he knew that if these matters were overwhelming to him the boy would be little help. "What am I to do? Who am I to trust?"

Lux spread his hands helplessly, his expression baffled. "Phendrana, I am your friend, but I am not your equal – I am a humble servant, and these affairs are beyond me. I am in no position to offer you counsel."

"I cannot say I am surprised," said Phendrana stiffly, moving to gather his armor and shoving it unceremoniously into a cabinet in his chest-of-drawers. "Few people will consent to counsel me these days. I feel I am more alone now than I ever was before I became a shade."

He turned back to find Lux watching him quietly, pity and understanding shining in those luminous green eyes, and instantly felt guilty for reprimanding the boy. After all, his head of housekeeping had done nothing but tell the truth – wasn't that what Phendrana really wanted, after all? He opened his mouth to stammer through an apology, suddenly terrified of losing his only real companion, but Lux spoke first. "What was it that Lim wanted? Did he enlist your aid? Did he threaten you?"

"He was…" The doppelganger trailed off, replaying the unanticipated meeting in his mind, wondering at the implications of certain words and phrases. "Kind, almost mockingly so. He seemed far more interested in my well being than he had any real reason to be, given that we are not well acquainted and this is the first opportunity I have had to speak with him on such a personal basis. He was inquisitive, but careful. I am not sure what he was after."

Lux was busying himself about Phendrana's dresser, gently extricating the discarded armor and inspecting the tear in the adamantine links with a practiced eye. When he spoke, his tone was thoughtful. "You said Lim has been forging alliances that trouble you. Perhaps his real purpose here was to seek out your allegiance."

Phendrana gawked, though of course Lux was still studying the ruined armor with absorbed fascination; the doppelganger had a feeling the boy was purposely avoiding his gaze. "What use could Lim have possibly designed for me?"

"Can you think of nothing?" asked Lux, suddenly impatient, his fingers tangled with unnecessary force in the smooth silvery links of the mail. "Your dreams are public knowledge now, Phendrana. I cannot say I am surprised by Lim's gesture of friendship toward you, nor do I think it will be the last of such conversations you will find yourself engaged in. To see the future… even brief, vague glimpses of it… That is something that many among us would barter much to obtain."

Phendrana gazed back over the past twenty four hours with new understanding then, seeing every encounter he had had since the assassin had paid his midnight visit to their sovereign with a different kind of clarity. Was this the true reason for Telamont's seemingly uncharacteristic mercy towards him – mercy born from the desperate hope of someone who would grant clemency for even a fleeting glimpse of what was to come? Was the sudden gesture of camaraderie that Aveil and Aglarel had extended his way little more than a twisted, conniving bid for some insight into what they might expect from those they had named their mortal enemies? Had Lim offered his support against those who would do Phendrana harm as bait, hoping that in doing so Phendrana might be tempted to share all that he had seen out of mere gratitude? And what of Lamorak's tolerance of him over these past weeks? Was that also nothing but a partnership born of special circumstances, a friendship forged out of a secret desire to harness the doppelganger's knowledge?

Suddenly Phendrana was coldly suspicious of everyone around him, and only became aware that his expression was mirroring his sudden shift in demeanor when Lux took a tentative step away from him with something like hurt lingering around his too-green eyes. Abruptly he was brought back to himself, a wash of intense guilt flooding him, but even as he opened his mouth to stumble through an apology Lux was tangling his fingers in the broken links of the armor again and clearing his throat.

"I believe I can mend this for you," he said with a quiet determination that made Phendrana feel somehow worse. "I will get to work on it straightaway. In the meantime, let me know if you should like your moon ivy changed – I know where I might find some more." And before the mindmaster had the chance to apologize Lux had bowed himself hastily out of the room.

Phendrana heaved a self-indulgent sigh. Was he doomed forever to a life of solitude, whether by his sovereign's will or his own social inadequacies?

He crossed to the balcony, throwing the curtains open as he went and letting in the meager flood of gray light, the bleak, diluted rays of sunshine that the protective veil of shadows perpetually wreathing the City of Shade couldn't quite diminish; it wasn't quite noon but the sun was approaching its zenith, meaning that he still had a few hours to while away before the ceremony began. Already there was a great deal of activity in the sweeping courtyard leading up to the Palace Most High – the gates had been thrown wide in a gesture of welcome, but the guard had been doubled to keep the common folk from gaining access to the palace. The grounds, though, appeared to have been opened to the public; bards were playing their instruments, attracting small groups of meandering Shadovar, and though the music was joyful it fell just short of reaching the forlorn doppelganger. The sound of harp strings only made him miss Zerena – with a start he realized he couldn't recall her lovely, cherubic face as clearly as he expected he might, and the thought was more disturbing than perhaps anything else that had happened in the last day or two.

Though the thought of allowing the general public to see him in his relatively-new shade body still made him feel anxious, he knew there was nothing for it – in a matter of hours he would be presented for all the enclave to see, and there would be no hiding from the inquisitive eyes that Curiously, knowing that the fanfare was inevitable did not instill within Phendrana the urge to hide – rather he desired to go and mingle among the people sooner rather than later, hoping that in seeking their acceptance he might find some measure of solace from his own fears and self-doubt. Above all else he wanted to feel as though he belonged – after all, he had sacrificed everything just to reach this point in his life. Wasn't he owed that, at least?

"Lux," he murmured, knowing that wherever the boy was, he would hear the sound of his name upon the doppelganger's lips.

There was a beat of silence and then, predictably, the sound of the boy's voice from a few feet behind him. "Here."

"I'm leaving now. I think I will go to the palace and enjoy the festivities for a time." Almost as an afterthought, for he was unwilling to admit just how alone he truly was, Phendrana added, "Would you like to accompany me?"

"Regrettably I must decline," Lux told him politely. "There is your armor to mend, and your house to keep. In my efforts to allow you some rest I seem to have fallen behind on my duties." A protest struck Phendrana's tongue, but Lux overrode him. "Do not apologize. Your well being is my first priority."

"Then I will leave you to them," Phendrana acquiesced quietly, but the boy's innocent, inquisitive voice reached out and gave him pause yet again.

"Will you be… quite safe, on your own? I do not presume to know what you have seen, if you have seen anything at all, but I confess… I worry for you, Phendrana."

The boy's concern was touching, and Phendrana supposed he was being rash and irresponsible in going out on his own, but it wasn't enough to sway him from his course. "I'm sure I have nothing to fear," Phendrana assured the boy. "And you will know where to find me should something transpire while I am gone."

"Yes," Lux agreed reluctantly, and with that Phendrana let his mind lead him in the direction of the merrymaking as he stepped into the Shadow Realm.

* * *

As it turned out, the merriment unfolding in the sweeping palace courtyard made Phendrana feel the most at home he had felt since forsaking the World Below.

There was music everywhere; just inside the gates a trio of musicians with string instruments had drawn a crowd, and a small group of jubilant commoners had taken to dancing upon the masterfully-crafted lane leading up to the palace doors. Passerby laughed aloud and those gathered around clapped and stomped their feet in time to the beat and hooted in voices thick with revelry. He chose not to linger, drawn in by a trilling soprano voice lilting further around to the west side of the gardens, and there he found a little girl-child who looked to be about Lux's age recounting the most popular tales of Thultanthar's storied history for a growing crowd of history enthusiasts. Phendrana listened long enough to hear her rhyming retelling of the enclave's grand return to the Material Plane after its seventeen-century sojourn, and with his mind buzzing with awe he moved along again.

Merchants from the Lower District had packed up their wares and moved them into temporary kiosks, utilizing the rare opportunity within the palace gates to sell all manner of merchandise to a more auspicious clientele; there were alchemists with potions and salves every color of the rainbow simmering promisingly upon their carts and midlevel metalworkers waving pieces of meager steel and tailors presenting homespun fabrics in the traditional Netherese fashion and all manner of trinkets wrought of copper and silver and gold. Before Phendrana had even wandered fifty feet he had sneezed himself silly smelling a poultice its vendor claimed would restore lost memories, nearly been cleft in two by a boastful young arms dealer brazenly brandishing a two-handed greatsword, and politely declined a portly housewife-type who insisted that she had a cloak of handspun silver set with emeralds that would perfectly complement his eyes. He was feeling guilty for being so short and unyielding with Lux, though, and did purchase his curious little friend a finely-crafted leather belt with a handsome silver clasp to wear with his housekeeping uniform – Lux had a most peculiar fascination for belts.

Most of all, Phendrana hadn't expected to feel as uplifted as he undeniably did as he wended his way through the menagerie of vendors and musicians – he had anticipated feeling just as isolated here as he did in almost every other situation, simply because he was both set above and undeniably different than anyone else that dwelt within the City of Shade. But somehow the people seemed to _know_ him, despite the fact that he had yet to make a single public appearance – and strangely enough, even though he was both a shade and a non-Shadovar, they still overwhelmed him with their kindness and hospitality. He found himself gaining confidence with every step, smiling though he knew not the names of those around him, laughing with them as they indulged him with their tales and sharing in the joy they seemed to feel for the grand wedding ceremony that was only days away.

How unexpected it was, that the prejudice the Princes of Shade seemed to reserve for all foreign races was not shared by their subjects!

Phendrana whiled away a few hours in the company of the denizens of the Lower District, feasting his eyes upon the splendor of the kingdom he had glimpsed but couldn't claim he had really seen, until lost in his own private musings he heard an unfamiliar voice intrude unbidden into his thoughts.

 _A private message for you, from your prince._

He stopped dead in his tracks but did not dare look around. Was it a trick? Had someone really sought him out solely for this purpose? The urge to glance around, to set eyes upon his would-be messenger, was so strong that he almost succumbed to it at once, but somehow he was able to cling to his last real shred of good sense and keep his eyes focused ahead. What if this was a test? Clearly the High Prince didn't want him fraternizing with his youngest son in a personal manner… If he displayed any interest in such a liaison, would Brennus be in danger? Would he? He allowed his mental influence to permeate the air, seeking out that silent voice that had whispered into his mind, but it seemed hesitant and withdrawn – whoever he was, he was not keen on making himself known.

 _Apologies,_ the voice murmured after a moment's contemplation. _There are so many eyes and ears here, I thought it best not to approach you publicly. Is there somewhere we might speak privately?_

Phendrana took another step, making it seem as though he was intent upon the nearest kiosk when in reality his eyes saw nothing that was laid out before him. _Who has asked you to deliver this message to me?_

 _Prince Brennus, of course – who else? He has been biding his time, awaiting an opportunity to speak with you in whatever way presented itself._

 _And who are you, to whom Prince Brennus would entrust such a delicate and crucial task?_ Phendrana knew that his tone was thick with skepticism and suspicion, but he made no effort to disguise the way he felt about being approached in such a manner. There had been no sign of a possible reconciliation with Brennus, whom Phendrana had only seen once since their ill-fated return from Castle Tethyr – what proof did he have that this messenger was here on some legitimate business, and not as part of some other sinister agenda?

 _A friend to both you and your prince, and for now I will say no more. You know as well as I do that conversing this way is not wise – the Most High is privy to many things that occur here, and is well attuned to the familiar patterns of your thoughts. Would you compromise your prince this way, knowing that he means you no harm?_

The doppelganger's mind buzzed, knowing that the warning rang with truth but unable to dismiss this as a harmless meeting without further consideration. There was no disputing the fact that Most High Telamont knew much – things that occurred beneath his notice had a tricky way of reaching his attention, though Phendrana couldn't begin to explain just how - , and he had no doubt that the High Prince was on higher alert today than usual with a barely-thwarted assassination attempt not twenty four hours past fresh in his mind. And if Brennus truly wished to deliver a message to Phendrana – a hurried word to be strong, or some cryptic indicator that his previous silence and neglect was all for show – didn't Phendrana want to hear it?

His love for Brennus outweighed his hatred for the man just enough that the decision was made for him. _Have you some place in mind where we might talk?_

A soft chuckle answered him first, followed closely by a reply that widened his eyes and made his mouth go abruptly dry. _You misunderstand me – I am not here to speak for the prince. I am here to lead you to him, that you might hear his testimony for yourself. He was adamant that no other method of delivery would suffice in this instance._

Desperation gripped Phendrana so suddenly and tightly that his breath became difficult to come by, and it was all he could do to keep from physically reacting to this revelation. He was going to see Brennus – to speak with him. An unwanted flicker of hope flared somewhere deep within his chest, in a place that he had forgotten existed; it was where his heart had once been, he realized with a start, and try as he might to suppress it there was no dismissing that hint of desire. Suddenly he was convinced that he would give anything for an opportunity such as this.

 _And he is waiting for me?_ Phendrana was not at all surprised by the feebleness of his own voice.

 _At this very moment,_ was the sure, immediate reply.

The doppelganger sucked in a shaky, ragged breath. _Then take me to him at once._

 _Follow me_. Phendrana lifted his gaze at last and combed his surroundings as carefully as possible, his eyes falling upon a cloaked and hooded figure that had been shadowing him from about twenty feet behind; he knew this was his quarry at once, for the moment his eyes fell upon the man he vanished in a shower of shadow particles that suggested he had slipped into the Plane of Shadow. Phendrana hastened to follow after him, committed now to facing Brennus and hearing what he had to say no matter what that might entail.

Once he had set foot in the Shadow Realm he quickened his pace, for there was no one around now to watch his comings and goings and thus no reason to keep up any pretenses; Phendrana hurried along in Brennus's messenger's wake, focusing on the hem of his quarry's trailing cloak as it rippled through the gloom. He wanted to hail the man leading him forward for with every passing moment he was in danger of tripping over his own feet at such a pace, but every time he opened his mouth the words wouldn't come – Brennus! He was going to speak to Brennus! At last there would be an explanation, a reason for all the hardships, perhaps even reconciliation between them in some form. The fleeting flicker of hope bloomed in his chest, transformed into reluctant optimism.

The moment the messenger stepped back into the Material Plane Phendrana hesitated, certain that if his heart still beat within his chest it would be drumming almost painfully against his ribs now. His thirst for answers, for absolution, outweighed his anxiety. He returned to the world that he knew.

In the following instant, when he first set foot upon the grand observation balcony that was the highest standing point on the exterior of the Palace Most High, he knew he had been deceived. He could only watch helplessly as the man who had lured him so easily away to the place of his choosing like a sheep to slaughter dropped his hood and turned back to face him, revealing himself as the drow with the chilling white eyes whom Phendrana had seen in his waking nightmares only hours before.

 _You are a truly pathetic creature, completely ruled by your emotions,_ sneered the drow in his mind, infiltrating Phendrana's thoughts so easily that the doppelganger felt somehow violated. _Has no one ever bothered to tell you the dangers of wearing your feelings on your sleeve in the sickeningly obvious manner which you do? Your desires were all too easy to pluck from your mind – they consume your every thought._

Phendrana couldn't help feeling nauseous at those words. And here he had been so convinced that he was doing an admirable job reining in the emotions he was most ashamed of – the loss, the yearning, the anger he felt toward Brennus and the loathing he felt for himself. _And so you read all of these things from my surface thoughts and lured me away. I suppose you think yourself quite clever._

It was wise to hold this conversation completely in their minds, he told himself. It was easier to focus on the terrible, all-consuming potential that had been lurking quietly, barely-contained, within the darkest recesses of his mind since the first moment he had succumbed to the shadow. He would need all of that slumbering power now, of that he was certain.

The drow he faced shrugged noncommittally. _I can take no pride in this victory – not when it will be gained so easily. There is no pride in defeating an enemy whose mental fallacies make him an unworthy opponent._

 _You presume much,_ was all Phendrana could bring himself to say, for his adversary's words were stoking the fires of his rage and he remembered well all he had been capable of the last time he had lost a grip on his temper.

 _I saw what you did to Mourn,_ said the drow, nonplussed, _and I must say that I was not impressed. You caught my associate off his guard. You have no hope of doing the same to me._

 _I grow weary of your boasts,_ Phendrana pointed out. _Tell me why you have gone to such great pains to single me out. What am I to you?_

The drow paced slowly the width of the balcony from railing to the wall beneath the severely-sloping archway, never taking his eyes off Phendrana; the doppelganger marked his every step, quietly seething at how easily he had allowed himself to be lured into this trap. _Truthfully you are nothing to me, and I would not bother with you had I not been charged with doing so. But the priestess whom I currently find myself serving supposedly takes her orders directly from the Spider Queen, so I have little choice but to obey. Whomever she names her adversaries, we then take the necessary steps to eliminate – she named you, and tasked me with disposing of you._

 _But why? I am associated with no drow._

 _Aren't you?_ corrected his adversary enigmatically, and Phendrana found himself backpedaling.

 _Ah,_ thought the mindmaster in a stroke of sudden understanding. _This is about Lim Tal'eyve, isn't it? He is your real target, but you are finding it more difficult than you had first thought to get rid of him so you are now clearing a path to him. I see. If you were as adept at reading my thoughts as you would have me believe, however, you would see that he is no friend of mine._

The drow psionist actually rolled his eyes. _Of course I can see that, but that doesn't keep you from getting in the way – and trust me when I say that you, and several of you other mindless zealots who serve Lord Shadow, are already irrevocably in the Spider Queen's path. So long as those whom the Spider Queen targets live, the way to Lim is not clear._

 _And why does your goddess want Lim so badly?_ Phendrana suspected he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from the mouth of one of Lolth's agents if he could – the High Prince would be thankful for his diligence, he knew.

 _Surely even you can see that there can be no repentance for Lim's transgressions – not just against our goddess, but against our entire race as well. She will not suffer him to live no matter where he chooses to hide, or how much power he obtains. Not even your Lord Shadow can protect him from the Spider Queen._

Phendrana felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward into an unwilling half-smile. _I am not certain you know the High Prince so well, if you think that to be true._

 _And I am of the opinion that you and the rest of your disgusting shadow-dwelling race has hidden behind that feeble wizard for long enough,_ the drow fired back coldly, and with that he ceased his pacing and turned fully to face Phendrana. _I grow bored of conversing with you now, doppelganger. Let me do what I came here to do so that I can leave your reeking city and be on my way._

 _You are welcome to try,_ Phendrana invited, his tone one of utmost superiority, and squaring his shoulders he clung to the razor edge of his hard-sublimated anger as surely as a warrior clinging to any blade.

Theirs was a battle of no fanfare; no trumpets sounded to herald a great charge, no banners were raised, no voices cried out and there was no clashing of steel against steel. There was nothing to see, no outward sign that the situation had become one of life or death for both of them, but the struggle was as real as any war that had ever been waged. Phendrana had known a handful of bard-worthy psionists in his day but of the curious psionist family of the drow house Oblodra he knew almost nothing; he had expected a flashing of his opponent's eyes, a telltale symbol that a telekinetic attack of some kind was about to be launched, but the drow's face remained completely impassive. So great was the force of the blow that Phendrana swore for half a second that he could actually _see_ the fabric of the Material Plane ripple as reality distorted around him, and then it was all he could do to thrust out his own pent up mental force just to shield himself from the power lancing his way.

The drow's telekinetic attack impacted his mind with jarring force, scattering his thoughts, and Phendrana gritted his teeth and pushed back with all the force he could muster. He couldn't see their energies jockeying for purchase but he could envision well enough what such a battle might look like: two unrelated beams of light, twisting and distorting around one another as they sought weak chinks in the opposite force's defenses. His own mental defenses he could see well enough, for he had spent enough time brooding within his own cavernous subconscious to know what it looked like to him by now – that wide open expanse with its limitless ceiling and its fathomless floor, all surfaces obscured by a ever-present but somehow calming silver mist. Except as he watched the chilling beam of white light that was the attack force of his adversary began infiltrating the miniscule crevices his mind had left unguarded, filtering in like beams of concentrated sunlight through gaps in roiling storm clouds –

Phendrana growled and let the drow's words of assumed superiority wash over him, flooding his memory with the snide remarks and allowing the anger he felt to tint his vision red with rage; as it had the first time his heightened state of emotion focused his telekinetic energy into a more defined point, redirecting and intensifying his attack. The energy emanating from him pulsed away from his form like a swelling wave, surging against the energy of his enemy and forcing it back, out of his mind so that he could think clearly again –

 _Your tactics are elementary,_ the drow taunted him lazily. _I find myself disappointed with your efforts._

And then the blinding white beam of energy tore through his own with the ease of a whip lashing skin from the bone; the surprise Phendrana felt warred with his anger and broke his concentration, destroying his focal point and scattering his thoughts again. Those pinpricks of white light razed through the cracks in his mental defenses and suddenly his subconscious mind was exploding with fireworks.

 _No,_ thought Phendrana blankly, the denial spoken with perhaps the very last shred of his sanity. _No_.

And then he was on his knees, all that remained of his mental discipline rounding itself into the shape of a shield beneath the crippling weight of his adversary's onslaught, and his mind was on fire.

 _Succumb, doppelganger,_ said the drow in a bored voice. _You are wasting my time with your struggles. You only prolong your own death._

Phendrana's agony was such that he was incapable of responding; his eyes were wide open but he couldn't see, his mind was being slowly but mercilessly crushed and at any moment he would simply cease to be. His desire to fight back wavered then as he considered giving up – the _pain_! – but dimly he perceived other voices and they served to give him pause.

 _DON'T! The danger if your mind isn't strong enough –_

 _I am strong enough for this._

 _The risk involved! If the High Prince catches wind of this –_

 _I won't let him die!_ The declaration pierced right through Phendrana as though he had been felled with a weapon, spearing him to the ground and leaving him breathless; he trembled with the effort of keeping the psionist's energies from crushing his mind into senselessness, but in the next moment his burden was much lessened as suddenly another presence wafted through his subconscious. It was formless and intangible, the very embodiment of a shadow – one of the Princes of Shade? – and it cloaked his mind in blessed blackness and all but negated the piercing beams of harsh white light.

 _Push!_ the second voice commanded him, so familiar in so many ways yet Phendrana couldn't comprehend anything other than the crippling agony he experienced. _For the love of all that is holy, Phendrana, PUSH!_

Phendrana responded to the urgency in that voice and heaved with all that remained of his mental energy, one last defensive telekinetic push that forced the drow's now-panicked presence from his subconscious; the moment that intrusion had been truly expelled Phendrana became aware of his own body again, and of the fact that someone was dragging him backward the length of the smooth marble balcony. His eyes cracked open a fraction, just enough for him to catch a bleary glimpse of the hooded drow writhing at the feet of a shade in flowing robes –

He was dragged around a corner and into the shade of the yawning entryway before he could glimpse anything more, and the hands that had been clutching him with vice-like force beneath his arms were suddenly hauling him roughly to his feet. Phendrana opened his mouth dully, his head lolling, a plea on his lips, but his half-formed requests were steadfastly ignored.

"Are you alright?" hissed the first voice, and though his vision had yet to clear completely Phendrana recognized the severe expression and clinical silver eyes of Third Prince Lamorak, holding him at eye level as though he weighed mere ounces.

Phendrana was astounded at how quickly his mind was recovering from a mental assault that should at the very least have left him comatose, but then he remembered the impossibly fast regenerative abilities that the shadow provided and thought he understood well enough his miraculous recovery. "What happened? The drow – "

Lamorak's face swam into clearer focus then, and Phendrana took note of the trace of desperation in the set of the prince's pinched brow. "He has been dealt with."

"But who - ?" Though Phendrana felt almost normal already, he still couldn't come to grips with what had just transpired.

"I eliminated him, of course."

Phendrana's sense of equilibrium had returned; the moment he was standing up straight Lamorak released him and put a pace or two between them for good measure. The prince's movements were restless in a way that made Phendrana feel certain he was being lied to, and he voiced his opinion almost at once. "No you didn't. You dragged me away from there, but it wasn't your presence I felt driving the drow out of my mind – it was someone else's."

"You were incoherent at the time," Lamorak snapped back defensively, and the mindmaster knew the prince's sudden hostility was a sign that his assumptions were closer to the truth than Lamorak was comfortable with. "The drow had almost broken your mind when I came upon you – I am not surprised to hear that you hallucinated such a thing."

"What happened was not a figment of my imagination," Phendrana insisted stubbornly, and to prove his own point he turned on his heel and strode out of the shadowy awning and back onto the balcony; Lamorak hurried along in his wake, protesting vehemently all the while, but Phendrana's sense of impending victory was unceremoniously dashed when he rounded the corner to find nothing but the drow's lifeless body awaiting him. He rounded on Lamorak at once, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Explain this."

The Determinist Prime crossed his arms adamantly over his chest. "I have already answered your inquiries, though you seem content to question me further. What more do you require?"

"There was someone else here!" Phendrana roared, refusing in his sudden fit of unexplainable certainty to back down from this confrontation, but his temper was stolen the moment he distinguished the look of sheer desperation in the prince's eyes

"Please," murmured Lamorak in a low, feverish voice. "I advise you to exercise discretion on this matter."

"Why should I?" Phendrana hissed, all of his unused anger bubbling to the surface again, but it withered when Lamorak ran one shaking hand down his suddenly haggard face.

"Because there is far more riding on this than you realize." Lamorak's eyes were dull with regret but somehow resolute when he added, "Don't you trust me, Phendrana?"

The words struck the doppelganger like a blow to the gut, sending all of the air rushing from his lungs with an audible exhale; it reminded him of a time too clear in his memory, a time when on the cusp of pleasure Brennus had whispered similar words. The memory raked through his brain as surely as a serrated blade and for a moment he despaired silently for all he had lost – but the ability to trust was something he yet retained.

"I suppose on this matter I have no choice but to do so," he responded reluctantly, and Lamorak breathed a soft yet audible sigh of obvious relief.

"We must go quickly," Lamorak told him briskly. "The ceremony will begin soon, and as you are the focal point of this occasion it would displease the High Prince very much if you were tardy. We will report to him afterward that another of your visions has come to pass – I daresay the occurrence will be of great interest to him."

Phendrana recalled the other events he had seen and felt suddenly breathless with fear. "Have the others gathered?"

"I know not," the Determinist Prime confessed sheepishly. "I came to call upon you perhaps a half hour ago to find that you had departed the villa already; Lux told me where I might find you, and I guessed what might happen if you were left to wander on your own. I… had a change of heart, about aiding you in these matters."

A wash of guilt chilled Phendrana's insides and he felt ashamed of his rash behavior. Lamorak had made it clear not half a day ago that he didn't want to be mixed up in Aglarel and Aveil's intensifying private war against Lim Tal'eyve, knowing that if the High Prince caught wind of their affairs his displeasure was likely to be sudden and severe on them all; Phendrana had conceded that most willingly and resolved not to involve Lamorak if he could help it, and now the Third Prince had become wrapped up in those dealings anyway – all on account of Phendrana's own carelessness. Not to mention that Lamorak seemed to have involved some unknown third party as well… but he was supposed to be pretending he knew nothing about that. He still wished that he could spare Lamorak the disapproval of the Most High – he was certain that was what awaited them all at the end of the road they had chosen to walk – but it seemed Lamorak had chosen otherwise now.

"I am truly sorry," Phendrana told him at length. "I never meant for you to become involved."

If Lamorak was displeased at his unwilling involvement, he did not show it. "Did the drow mention Lim at all before he attacked you?"

Phendrana shook his head, wishing he had better news to share.

The Third Prince squared his shoulders, seeming unfazed. "Then we must hope the next would-be assassin who appears in our midst is a little freer with his tongue."

"Or that we are able to loosen it for him," Phendrana added darkly, and as they spirited into the Shadow Realm he thought he heard Lamorak snicker.

* * *

Their sojourn to the Plane of Shadow was short; they materialized only a few seconds later in a blessedly quiet, little-used wing of the palace that was reserved for formal public occasions such as these. Mattick, Vattick, and Melegaunt were the only ones present when they arrived, but Lamorak assured Phendrana that they had a little time yet and so the doppelganger focused on not worrying himself too much – after all, the High Prince would be expecting him to be excited for the great honors he was about to receive, and would likely become suspicious if Phendrana appeared anything but jubilant. Lamorak made to join his younger brothers right away but the doppelganger's hand clasped him at the elbow, keeping him in place and pitching his voice low enough that the others wouldn't hear. "What of Aglarel and Aveil? Have you seen them?"

The expression of puzzlement Lamorak gave him was disheartening, to say the least. "Did Aglarel not command Aveil to monitor your movements today? Where has she been?"

"I confess," Phendrana murmured back gravely, "that I have neither seen nor heard from her today. You don't suppose that something has happened to them, do you?"

Lamorak was shaking his head, but his answer was something less than Phendrana had been hoping for. "I wish I could tell you that I understand Aglarel's movements, but nothing could be further from the truth. He guards his affairs with more secrecy than any of my other kin and discusses his dealings with no one – even Escanor does not question him. The High Prince gave Aglarel license to move about freely hundreds of years ago, before the High Prince had fathered any sons after him – the reason has never been made known to us, and we know better than to ask. As for Aveil… Well, I won't pretend that I understand the camaraderie that she and Aglarel seem to enjoy lately, but I do not think you will see one without the other very often from this point forward. It is obvious that she entertains his trust – to an extent, at least – and does his bidding; I can only assume that the High Prince had a hand in cultivating such a partnership, though for what reason I cannot begin to guess."

"You do not think that they…?" Phendrana began in a telling tone, and Lamorak actually scoffed.

"Aveil wouldn't dare," he hissed stiffly, "and even if she did, Aglarel would be quick with his rebuff." A little smile played across his lips for a moment then, presumably as he amused himself with some private joke, before he added, "We have long thought Aglarel was born without the heart he would have possessed prior to allowing the shadow to take him, and he seems to lack the desires that bring lesser men to folly."

Phendrana's eyes flitted over Lamorak's shoulder to the congregation they stood apart from, just in time to see Twelfth Prince Brennus shadow walk into their midst; though Mattick and Vattick hailed him in their customary friendly manner the youngest prince barely returned their greeting and certainly did not offer them even a fraction of their exuberance. Perhaps he sensed the doppelganger's eyes upon him, for in the next moment his gaze snapped up and lingered upon Phendrana's face for the most fleeting fraction of an instant; his eyes were searching, it seemed to Phendrana, but his face was perfectly unreadable. He glanced away without hesitation, engaging Melegaunt in soft conversation, and Phendrana did not allow himself to dwell upon the loremaster's unexpected interest.

"I suspect it's fortunate that he finds himself without such things," Phendrana replied at last, "else Aveil attempt to seduce him and lead him to sure ruin."

"Indeed," Lamorak chuckled indulgently, and gently he pulled his arm free of Phendrana's slackening grip and led the way toward the rest of their group.

Phendrana accepted the spattering of congratulations that came his way graciously, and though he allowed himself to be drawn into conversation easily enough he was careful not to look Brennus's way again or speak to him directly. He was curious and suspicious now, certainly, but not enough to put words to his musings.

The hour of Phendrana's christening was nearly upon them when Mattick broke off mid-sentence, a puzzled expression upon his face and his eyes fixed to a point over Phendrana's left shoulder, and said, "Why have you not brought the High Prince with you? The moment of the ceremony is now upon us!"

"You said you would only be a moment!" Vattick agreed, vexed. "The entire city is waiting!"

Phendrana turned to find Fourth Prince Aglarel standing perhaps ten paces away, and it was clear by his uncharacteristically vacant expression that the twins' words had caught him off guard. He froze where he stood, every muscle in his body suddenly taut with tension, and whispered, "Explain."

Vattick had set his hands upon his hips. "What do you mean, explain?! You were _here_ – do you not recall? You were standing here talking with us when the High Prince arrived and requested an audience with you before the ceremony began. You told us you wouldn't be long, and the Most High agreed! You went along with him just ten minutes ago."

The silence that followed the Ninth Prince's recounting of events was somehow deafening. When Aglarel managed to recover his voice, even his hoarse murmur seemed unbearably loud to Phendrana's ears. "I do not recall," he told them, "as I did no such thing."

"What are you about?" Mattick demanded angrily. "You said – "

"I have come just now straight from the Assassin's Guild," Aglarel confessed. "I have been there all day, and I am seeing you now for the very first time."

"But if that is true," Vattick wondered aloud, at a loss, "then who was here before you?"

Aglarel's eyes flitted in Phendrana's direction but did not linger, for in the next moment his body had dissolved into a puff of shadow particles as he passed into the Shadow Realm. There was no mistaking the dawning realization in his eyes.

Nor was there any mistaking the undiluted fear Phendrana glimpsed there, fear so acute that it served to keep the doppelganger rooted helplessly where he stood.

* * *

"Time grows short," Aglarel insisted, his eyes firmly rooted upon the floor as he ambled toward the world window. "The people are waiting, Holy Father."

At his side the High Prince smiled indulgently and lifted one frail-looking hand to clap his favored son upon one shoulder companionably. "Waiting, always waiting," he answered broodingly, shaking his head a little in a melancholy fashion. "We give the people what they want and they continue grasping, waiting for the next thing we would bestow upon them. The people will keep for a moment longer – there is something I wish to show you before we rejoin your brothers."

The world window was a dark pool in the center of the Most High's private audience hall, its enchanted waters still and blank as it awaited the opportunity to display an image; Aglarel's eyes flitted to its inky depths, the hint of a crease of concern appearing between his keen silver eyes. They moved toward the pool at a leisurely pace, their postures perfectly relaxed and their manners companionable enough, but there was something off about the proceedings – the High Prince slowed his tread a fraction but Aglarel mirrored him, so that they continued to walk shoulder to shoulder. The air between them was silent and somehow tense with some unspoken question.

They completed their approach, the toes of their boots only inches from the edge of the basin that housed the world window. High Prince Telamont watched Aglarel out of the corner of his eye, and after a moment's hesitation his son returned the gaze. Telamont's face split into a wide, harmonious smile.

"You know that you are a great comfort to me," the Most High told him.

Aglarel dipped his head a fraction, a proper display of thanks and obeisance, but his eyes never left his sovereign's face. "And you know that it is my supreme pleasure to serve you. The advancement of your pursuits both political and personal is all that I have ever desired."

Telamont nodded. "It is for that reason I have summoned you here. There is yet another matter I would ask for your help with – I can trust this matter to no other."

"You have only to show me," Aglarel insisted quietly, "and I will do my best to satisfy you, as always."

"Gaze into the world window, and it will be known to you."

Aglarel's eyes remained fixed upon the High Prince's face – had they narrowed a fraction? The silence in the audience chamber hardened and turned glacial. "There is nothing to see there, Holy Father. Can you not make it appear? Have you forgotten how? Or have you never known in the first place?"

The High Prince's face twisted into a scowl and his right arm twitched forward, but Aglarel had been waiting for this to happen and so he was well enough prepared; his left hand darted out and knocked his sovereign's arm out wide, so that the blade in Telamont's hand tore through his trailing cloak but didn't find purchase in his flesh. Aglarel threw out his right arm behind him as he turned, simultaneously wrestling out of his cloak and tangling the fabric around the weapon so that Telamont couldn't pull it free, and by the time he had completed his spin the sword had come free of Telamont's hand. Aglarel curled his free right hand into a fist and struck a blow to Telamont's midsection that sent him reeling –

Telamont flung one hand out in Aglarel's direction and loosed an explosion of sunlight so harsh that for a moment Aglarel could see nothing but an endless void of golden sunshine. When his vision cleared the High Prince appeared just as he had before – and no worse for the exposure, further proof that he was not as he seemed – but Aglarel was similarly unharmed.

The High Prince stumbled back a step, his eyes wide with fear now. "What manner of creature are you?!"

"I might ask you the same question," Aglarel cackled, stalking back in and groping within the folds of his shroud for a weapon.

Telamont managed to tear the serrated short sword free of the cloak at last and swiped desperately, catching Aglarel momentarily off his guard; the cruel edge of the blade tore through the right side of the Fourth Prince's shroud but if he was at all injured by the stroke he didn't show it. The space around Aglarel's left hand distorted for a moment and then an ornate black staff set with a faintly-glowing azure stone appeared, and tightening his grip around it he held the scepter aloft –

A shadowy hand clamped down tight upon Telamont's shoulder and dragged him backward, and when Telamont's struggles intensified an elbow cracked down upon the back of his head and left him reeling; he overbalanced and fell, splaying helplessly upon the ground and brandishing the crude sword above him in a weak display of defense. Through bleary eyes he watched as the sword was ripped from his grasp, and when he batted his arms to keep his new assailant at bay yet another fist crunched into his face again and again until he at last lay still. For a moment it seemed to him that there were two Aglarels standing over him, one bearing down upon him with his own sword in hand and the other he had battled who still bore the glimmering black scepter, and then the one holding the staff transformed into a petite black-haired sorceress with eyes of stunning violet.

Aglarel growled, a feral, animalistic sound that gave the prone Telamont chills of pure dread, and in a sudden fit of inexplicable rage he stabbed the short sword down and speared Telamont through the shoulder. The High Prince shrieked aloud, his cry reverberating in their ears, and his attempt to drag himself off the floor failed miserably when he found that the sword now kept him pinned to the cold marble.

A silver knife appeared in Aglarel's hand and he descended with murderous wrath in his eyes, but the sorceress flung her arms around his waist and tugged him back with all her might. "No!" she screamed, her fingers raking the air as she attempted to pry the knife out of his grasp. "You mustn't kill him!"

The rage had completely overtaken Aglarel; he lashed out with one arm and threw her off of him, and when her boots skidded upon the glossy black marble she fell to the ground. "Why?!" he roared, his eyes flashing with silver fire, his ceremonial fangs glinting like an animal moving in for the kill. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't gut this disgusting creature for having the sheer audacity to impersonate the High Prince – for trying to _kill you_!"

Aveil leapt back to her feet with a lurch, though her movements now were slower and more sluggish; she clung to his arm, keeping the killing stroke from falling by mere inches. "We need him!" she hissed desperately. "The one who tried to kill the Most High escaped – we must keep this one alive in our custody! There can be no doubt that he knows what the Spider Queen has in store for Thultanthar – what if he knows something of Lim Tal'eyve? Of his purpose here, and his intentions? You cannot deny his usefulness to us!"

Aglarel stood poised and ready to deliver the blow but the conviction and resolution had flown from his eyes; he glared down at the impersonator, his indecision plain upon his face but hatred still blazing hotly in his eyes –

"Aglarel!" Aveil was begging him now, desperate. "Listen to me! If you kill him, you put us all at risk!"

At last the Fourth Prince straightened out of his killer's crouch but didn't stow his dagger away; Aveil relaxed back, clinging to her staff with both hands for support for the right side of her robes was stained with a substantial amount of blood. Aglarel cast a glance her way, appraising, his anger warring with his concern.

"Go and attend the ceremony," he told her at length. "Someone there will attend your wound. Tell the High Prince what has happened here – tell him that Phendrana's visions are still coming to pass. Tell him that Phendrana is a target of theirs, and you. Tell him everything. This cannot go on."

"And when he asks what has become of you?" Aveil's breathing was slight.

The Fourth Prince cast yet another hateful glare down at their newest would-be assassin, whose guise of the High Prince was at last beginning to fade into the visage of a drow with a long ponytail and one eye. "Tell him that I will begin interrogating our prisoner right away, and that I will report to him the moment I have learned anything of value."

There was something in Aglarel's eyes, some hint of a complete lack of mercy or a disregard for all life, that made Zek Vandree wish the prince had just killed him outright and been done with it.


	9. Tipping the Scales

Quartana Baenre paced the length of the ovular audience chamber, the sound of her high heeled boots clacking repetitively against the tile echoing off the chiseled walls and her snarls of displeasure and impatience audible despite her efforts to contain them. Nhilue Xorlarrin followed the priestess' every step with her luminous crimson eyes, the fingers of her right hand combing through the gently-undulating viper bodies that adorned her whip as though she needed the feel of their silky scales to keep her calm. Mourn sat in the extreme corner of the room, keeping himself as unassuming as possible in the small patch of shadows cast from the light of the half dozen candles set up at the foot of the ornate throne, cross-legged with his back against the wall and his eyes fixed vacantly upon the nearest flickering flame. For an indeterminable period of time that might have been minutes or hours, no one spoke.

The sudden cessation of the priestess' pacing prompted Mourn to raise his head; Quartana had come to a halt a few feet away from where Nhilue sat with her shapely legs curled beneath her. Given the tense set of her jaw Mourn assumed she had reached a conclusion she would much rather not voice aloud, and when she spoke she proved him right in his musings. "They should have returned long ago."

Her eyes were upon the comely conjurer stroking the sinuously-twining vipers with her razor-sharp white fingernails as though seeking some sort of confirmation or denial; Nhilue blinked owlishly, undoubtedly weighing whether or not to share her opinion with the ever-volatile priestess of Lolth, before she nodded once gravely. "The psionist at the very least – he left fully an hour before that other male did, the one with only one eye. I suspect that they are dead by now, Lady Baenre."

"Or worse," Quartana snarled, her empty hands clenching and unclenching spasmodically at her sides as she grasped for weapons that were not within reach. "They have been compromised. We can no longer trust that the upper hand still rests with us."

"No," Nhilue agreed solemnly, the word twisting her devastatingly lovely face in an unfamiliar way that made her appear, for a fleeting moment, wholly unattractive. "They are weak-willed males, and the Princes of Shade will have little difficulty breaking them down if they have a mind to do so. The psionist and the wizard can't be trusted to keep the particulars of Lolth's crusade to themselves. They will implicate us."

Quartana's shoulders tensed as she at last voiced aloud what the other two had been afraid to utter aloud. "Then we have no hope of success."

Mourn couldn't quite suppress a dejected sigh. The idea that he was now caught up in a hopeless mission with two volatile females – at the express command of the Spider Queen, no less – did not sit well with him. And knowing that Xuntath would likely never return to Bregan D'aerthe was disheartening. He had been both a credit to the mercenaries that skulked the deepest shadows of Menzoberranzan and his deceased house, and it had been reassuring having someone close by who truly understood why Mourn's involvement was so crucial in so many ways. It had made Mourn feel empowered, had kept his thoughts firmly rooted in his ultimate goal. Now he felt he would be lucky to see the light of Narbondel ever again.

Nhilue had risen to her feet, Mourn noticed with a start, and closed the distance between herself and the Baenre priestess; with her free hand she gently stroked the stern lines of Quartana's face until they smoothed, the cool smile upon her full lips soothing Quartana's ire. For a moment, Mourn was powerless to look away. "Not so, my lady," she cooed, her voice strangely enchanting. "The Princes of Shade may have been alerted to our movements, that much is true, but that does not mean we are truly at a disadvantage. They are on the lookout now, but the fact remains that they haven't the first clue just what they are looking for. They cannot guard every citizen within their city at one time – such a thing would be impossible. They will slip up, or let their guards down – and when they do, we will exploit their weaknesses. The Spider Queen will tell you when to strike, and we will be ready."

Mourn dropped his gaze back to the floor and bit back every one of his scathing retorts. He thought this line of thinking was entirely too optimistic, though of course he would surely be reprimanded for stating his opinion. Had Lolth not been guiding them since the very start? Had it done them any good whatsoever? Mourn had to admit – privately, anyway – that he was rather of the opinion that if they hadn't followed Lolth's decree to the letter there was a chance that Xuntath and Zek would still be alive.

Still, he reasoned, watching Nhilue coax Quartana into discussing the next stage of their devious plot, not all was lost – until they had all been eliminated there was still a slim chance that their efforts hadn't been in vain.

If there was any chance at all that they might still come into contact with Lim Tal'eyve, the risk was well worth the potential reward.

* * *

Phendrana stood upon the balcony with his hands braced upon the guardrail, surveying the Circle with something like fierce protectiveness in his eyes. The break in his white adamantine armor had been mended expertly and he had donned it after the ceremony, for he had a sinking feeling that he might need it before long; the gates to the palace had been firmly shut but revelry continued up and down the streets of the Lower District, the commoners rejoicing gaily in the elevation of the newest Hero of Thultanthar. The Circle was decidedly less rowdy than the streets where the less fortunate dwelt but there was still a great deal of activity in the pavilion; he was hailed constantly by a steady stream of voices raised in exultation, and had taken to lifting one hand and waving vacantly at anyone who passed.

Occasionally that hand would drop surreptitiously to the belt of weapons he had donned over his armor, to the hilt of the relic weapon the High Prince had bestowed upon him at his christening that now served as his badge of office. In place of his elven thinblade he had sheathed a razor-thin rapier whose hilt was pure gold and whose blade was refinished with moonstones, a weapon that the Most High had explained had been a gift of thanks from the elves of Evereska when the Princes of Shade had helped drive the phaerimm from those sacred forests. The elves called the blade Dusk, saying that that most fleeting time of day between sundown and nighttime reminded them most of the Princes of Shade – mysterious, elusive, but above all, intensely magical. The blade would always be faintly luminous, much like the brightest stars that shone before the sun had fully set, and the handsome jade stone set in the weapon's pommel could grant its wielder the ability to shift into the Astral Plane for a limited period of time.

It was all so much more than he felt he deserved.

There was movement behind him but he didn't turn, knowing well enough that his companion wouldn't be able to keep from questioning his brooding for long – after all, he hadn't spoken since the ceremony had come to a close and hadn't lingered to join in the revelry that seemed to have engulfed most of the city. Phendrana found that he was increasingly grateful for allowing Lamorak to accompany him back to Villa Tareia – the Third Prince was very like him in many ways, with a penchant for the more intellectual pursuits of life and an inherent dislike for any social situation that might land him in the limelight for any period of time. At present his head was down as he perused a page of the thick tome he had taken to reading – the spine read _The Mind's Eye_ , a collection of autobiographical accounts of Seers who had been afflicted with prophetic visions similar to Phendrana's throughout the course of the previous age. In Phendrana's bedchamber, sitting cross-legged in his familiar perch with his back against the doppelganger's broad study desk, Lux had engrossed himself in a similar book that Phendrana's didn't know the name of. They were trying, he assumed, to help him make sense of his strange fortune-telling visions. He couldn't help wondering just what they were hoping to find – surely there was no cure for such a curious mental state?

"This book will be of little help to us," Lamorak told him dutifully, snapping the book shut in his hand and letting out a soft sigh of frustration. "Here are told dozens of stories of self-named prophets and seers, but none with a situation so… _genuine_. These poor fools are victims of witchcraft gone afoul, or the by-product of foolish bards who think their hypnotism parlor tricks are harmless but can really drive a mortal insane. They are not perfectly healthy men and women who one day begin having dreams that detail future events with no outward provocation."

Phendrana had bitten his tongue the first time Lamorak had made a similar remark, but this time he voiced his major qualm with that train of thought. "I was not perfectly healthy when I first began having these dreams either, if you recall."

Lamorak had tucked the book beneath one arm and was surveying Phendrana with that clinical look the doppelganger took to be his characteristic expression, as though Phendrana himself was a fascinating specimen to be studied and Lamorak had been placed in charge of some truly enticing experiments – occasionally it made Phendrana feel something less than human, and he found that in this particular instance he didn't much care for it. "You are right," he agreed reluctantly, causing Phendrana's jaw to go slack with surprise – Lamorak had always disputed this knowledge before. "You were distraught when I first came upon you. You were completely consumed by all that you had lost – your friends' voices, your most distant memories, your ability to alter your form into any shape you chose and the love of the man you desired. You may have thought your mind fragmented prior to your transformation, but I confess – never before have I had a glimpse into a mind more broken than yours _after_ you returned to the enclave. The mental, physical, and psychological trauma you endured while in Castle Tethyr… It is possible that your body was subjected to more than it could bear, more even than the shadow could hope to repair."

"Then you suppose these dreams really are a result of my transformation." Phendrana's voice made it clear that this was not a question.

"They may be," Lamorak agreed diplomatically, his eyes sweeping the Circle now with great diligence. "It is not my place to offer an explanation as to the capabilities of your mind, Phendrana, for I am no expert in these matters. I am a scholar, certainly, a man who is learned in determining the futures and potentials of others, but of your great matter I know almost nothing. We know only that the shadow brought you back from the jaws of death, and that it sharpened certain facets of your mind just as it dulled certain others. But did it bestow upon you the ability to prophesize the future of Thultanthar, or did that gift come from something else? I can only speculate."

"Gift?" Phendrana echoed incredulously, and before he could stop himself he was laughing aloud, his tone one of resounding cynicism. "You believe that these damnable visions are a _gift_?!"

The Determinist Prime turned fully to face him, his features hardening, his eyes narrowing into slits of sharp silver ice; were it not for Lamorak's slightly trimmer, more academic build, Phendrana may have mistook him for Fourth Prince Aglarel in that moment. "Your visions have saved lives," he reminded, with just a hint of impatience that suggested he felt Phendrana was acting childishly. "Aglarel's. The High Prince's. Yours. My own. How many others will be in your debt before this is over? And all on account of something that, for whatever reason, you still consider a _mental defect_?"

Phendrana ran a hand down his face then, feeling increasingly more helpless than before, and at last uttered that which was truly troubling him. "I wanted to serve the High Prince to the best of my ability. Never did I imagine that I would have to be reduced to this – little more than a madman – in order to do so."

For once Lamorak chose not to argue the point – Phendrana wasn't sure if he felt grateful for that or offended. "You may call it what you will," said the Third Prince bracingly, "but in answer I feel I must remind you that true genius is often misperceived."

That wasn't the first time Phendrana had heard such a thing, but recalling the other instances only caused him undue melancholy and he was quite through feeling sorry for himself. He felt they were overdue for a change in topic, and given recent events he had little difficulty steering the conversation in another direction. "She should have been here by now."

"Have patience," Lamorak bade him gently, though his brow creased a little with worry as he said this. "She had much to discuss with the Most High, and there was her arm to mend."

Phendrana crossed his arms over his chest as a shudder that had nothing at all to do with the climate coursed down his spine. "Impersonating Aglarel is one of the most foolish ideas she has ever had. Confronting that drow alone, knowing that Aglarel was his intended target, telling no one of her intentions before she acted upon them… It's a wonder that she wasn't killed."

"You are right, of course," agreed the Third Prince, "though you must also admit that her tactics got results. Aglarel would have killed the drow outright. Aveil knew we would need him alive if we were to have any hope of gaining the upper hand in this. We are fortunate that she acted of her own accord. I do hope, for her sake, that the Most High sees the situation the same way."

"Is there any danger that she might be punished?" Phendrana thought there were no grounds for such correcting behavior, but he was not the High Prince.

Lamorak was shaking his head. "Not in my opinion. With your help she was able to thwart yet another assassination attempt. The High Prince knows these are turbulent times – he will reward her for her constant vigilance."

The curtain parted then and Lux peeked his head out, his green eyes burning with curiosity. "Prince Lamorak, Lord Phendrana… the Sceptrana is here."

The doppelganger and the Determinist Prime exchanged a glance that encompassed all emotions from relief to intrigue and hastened to follow the young Shadovar boy back inside. Aveil was standing just inside the door when they came upon her; she had traded in her customary robes for a simple black skirt that slit up to her knee and a crimson corseted bodice that accentuated her voluptuous figure in a most flattering way, but it was easy to see why she had chosen such an ensemble – the lack of sleeves kept her arm unrestrained, necessary now as her entire right arm was swathed in shadowsilk dressing from shoulder to wrist. In her other hand she clutched Stygian Invidia, whose azure stone glittered with a kind of cool, pensive radiance, and she wore a simple crown of silver and garnets woven into her black hair; in that moment, Phendrana thought she looked just as queenly as Soleil Chemaut.

Aveil bowed graciously to Lamorak, but the moment she straightened her eyes lit upon Phendrana; Lux, ever the soul of discretion, bowed low and silently took his leave. "I must ask you to forgive me," Aveil said, her eyes downcast with sorrow. "I know that Aglarel charged me with providing you protection, and for abandoning you I am truly sorry. The plan came to me in an exceedingly rare moment that I found myself alone, and I knew that if I shared it with anyone I would likely not succeed." She winced at some memory before finishing, "The High Prince tells me that you squared off against the psionist, and that you only barely escaped with your life… How did you manage to fend him off?"

"Before I departed for the palace grounds I had the good sense to tell Lux where I was bound," Phendrana confided, careful to keep his face perfectly neutral when he spoke. "Lamorak came to call on me sometime later, and Lux told him where I had gone. It was Lamorak who helped me defeat the drow." He still didn't feel right about lying about how those events had unfolded – even now he took issue with it, remembering most vividly that second voice in his mind and marveling at its overwhelming familiarity – but Lamorak had pleaded for him to follow his lead and Phendrana respected the prince enough to trust his judgment. He was still hoping he might coax the truth out of the Third Prince at a later time, but he knew that that time was not now.

"How fortunate," said Aveil, her face lighting up with relief, and she turned her grateful smile upon Lamorak. "I did not know you were so proficient in the art of psionics, Prince."

"Oh, I have dabbled in it enough to put up a formidable enough defense if the need calls for it," Lamorak chortled evasively. "But the victory is still Phendrana's, regardless of what he says. Even with a crippled mind he was still able to utterly crush our adversary – I merely helped speed the process along."

Phendrana gestured to the tightly-fitted shadowsilk dressing that encased the Sceptrana's arm. "How is it?"

Aveil flexed the fingers of her right hand before clenching a fist; the thin but durable ebony fibers tightened with the movement but did not give. "Mostly superficial; Prince Dethud is confident that the wound will not scar, but I am not so optimistic. The muscle damage was minimal – already it does not hurt so much. The dressing will be off in a few days' time."

A thoughtful but companionable silence descended upon the three of them then as they reflected upon the days' many events; Phendrana wondered if they felt weary of talking, as he himself had since long before his christening. He was rather of the opinion that the time for idle chatter and speculation was long past; he was tired of all the guesswork involved in interpreting his oddly-prophetic dreams and wished with all his might that it was time for them to take matters into their own hands. Knowing what was in store for them was bad enough, and waiting for it to come to pass was even worse – all Phendrana wanted was the opportunity to strike back against their adversaries, to feel as though they held the upper hand even if it was only for a moment. He turned their conversation onto the only topic that made him feel even the least bit proactive. "Aglarel is still with the drow?"

Aveil's eyes slipped to the floor as though the thought disturbed her, but she nodded all the same. "Even now he speaks with him, though the Most High seems to think that Aglarel will be changing tactics very soon. As I understand it the drow is not responding well to Aglarel's more humane methods – I suspect it won't be long before Aglarel's technique takes a turn for violence."

"You would dissuade him from handling the prisoner thusly?" Lamorak scoffed disdainfully. "I am not a man of violence, Sceptrana, yet for my part I can only say that I hope Aglarel is not gentle with that one. The drow are infiltrating our home at an alarming rate and attempting to murder some of the most prestigious and influential members of our society, yet you would show them clemency?"

"Of course not," Aveil snapped back. "I don't fear for the drow's safety – I fear what may become of him if he does not yield to Aglarel in time. In his devotion to the High Prince Aglarel sometimes allows his anger to get the better of him, and at times I even fear that he does not know his own strength… If Aglarel cannot master his anger while he interrogates the prisoner, we may lose the only advantage we have. And where will we be then?"

"Trusting our fates to the continued consistency of my dreams," Phendrana finished wearily, none-too-thrilled with the prospect. "I cannot say the idea pleases me."

"Nor can I," Aveil admitted, "though of course I mean no disrespect."

Lamorak lifted one hand to stroke his chin thoughtfully. "And how has our own resident drow reacted to this chain of events?"

Aveil had spotted the decanter of heartwine Lux had left upon the dining room table and crossed the room to help herself to a glass. Phendrana couldn't say that he blamed her – it had been a trying day for them all. "I watched him as closely as I dared throughout the ceremony, for I knew someone would ask when things settled down," she told them, lifting the glass to her lips and taking a modest sip; the liquid darkened her lips, the flickering light of the candles upon Phendrana's desk giving the illusion that they were painted in blood. "Lim seemed perfectly at ease for the duration of the proceedings and hardly seemed put out by the news that one of the drow had been taken alive. I did hear him ask the Most High if he knew the name of the drow who had been captured, but at the time Aglarel had yet to ascertain even that much so the Most High had nothing to tell him."

"We must ensure that the name reaches Lim's ears before too long," Lamorak mused. "Let us see if it sparks some recognition in him – if it does, it may be proof that Lim is awaiting allies from his homeland."

"Will it though?" Phendrana wondered aloud, earning him incredulous looks from both his companions. "Any man might display recognition at the mere mention of a name he has heard before, but can that really be considered proof that they entertain the same diabolical designs? I hate to admit it, but I fear the only proof the High Prince will accept will be an admittance of partnership from our prisoner's own lips. Only then can Lim be implicated in this plot."

Aveil's expression had grown considerably darker, but there was no refuting such logic. Somehow she had already finished her wine, and replaced the empty glass with a jarring clatter. "I fear I cannot remain here while Aglarel goes about his work… I will return to the palace and ask the High Prince if he might admit me to the dungeons. Perhaps I can be of some use to Aglarel, even if all I can do is keep him from losing his temper."

Lamorak was willing enough to dismiss her. "Then go. We need the drow alive."

The Sceptrana wasted no time, simply turned a graceful pirouette and dissolved into her own shadow. The moment she was gone Lamorak took up the decanter and poured himself a marginal amount of heartwine, earning a shocked stare from Phendrana – the doppelganger had never known the Third Prince to drink, even in social settings.

"It really has been a most taxing day," was all Lamorak would say in his own defense before tossing the drink back in one swallow, and at that Phendrana couldn't help but smile. "Besides, I fear I might need the added courage for what I intend to do next."

"What will you do?" asked Phendrana, intrigued at once.

" _We_ ," Lamorak corrected slyly, "are leaving. It is time we stopped waiting for your visions to point us in the right direction. It is time to start taking matters into our own hands."

* * *

It was deathly quiet in the dungeons; Aveil stood poised at the top of the stone stairs leading down into the dank underbelly of the palace, her ears poised for any sound, but she heard neither the harsh whisper of a command or the telltale crack of a hungry whip. Slowly, so as not to misstep and tumble down the steps or to interrupt anything that might be transpiring below, she began her arduous descent.

The last two steps were bathed in the faintest sheen of amber light, guiding her safely down the rest of the way; once she had reached the subterranean level Aveil flattened herself against the nearest wall and dared to peer around the corner, her heart thudding madly in her chest as she imagined the dreadful things that might be awaiting her. The soft illumination was coming from a single tall white candle, affixed to a tarnished bronze candelabra stained with dark, long-dried flecks of what might have been blood; the candlelight glanced off the dull, roughly-hewn stone walls, giving the entire chamber an out-of-place golden sheen. When she shuffled a half step forward, even that simple movement kicked up little clouds of dust at her feet – there hadn't been a prisoner down her since she had landed herself at the High Prince's mercy, and even that seemed like a lifetime ago.

Their prisoner, a male drow with a long white scraggly ponytail and a single burgundy-hued eye, was sitting with his hands and feet chained to a crude wooden chair; aside from a visible sheen of sweat upon his brow and the quickened, shallow pace of his breathing he didn't seem any worse for wear despite the hour he had spent below ground. His wizard's robes were dusty and disheveled, but with one glance Aveil felt confident that he hadn't suffered any additional wounds that hadn't already been inflicted upon him back in the High Prince's audience hall. The only other piece of furniture that stood out – aside from the many disturbing implements arranged in neat little rows along the walls – was a slightly-lopsided four-legged table upon which gleamed a half-dozen sterile little silver instruments, but from a distance Aveil couldn't readily determine what they might be.

Movement out of the corner of her right eye caught her attention, and Aveil shifted her gaze just in time to see Fourth Prince Aglarel shrug out of his shroud and hang it from a peg protruding from the far wall. He rolled his shoulders back as though stretching, the ever-shifting flames casting long shafts of light along his naked back as the muscles rippled sinuously to accommodate the movement; even in the near-darkness the host of thin gray scars that marred his obsidian flesh were easily distinguishable, some smoothed over with the passing of time and others puckered as though they had been inflicted far more recently. Aveil couldn't help but fear Aglarel as he closed the distance between himself and the table upon which the silver instruments lay waiting, his boots silent upon the dusty stones and the hem of his simple charcoal-gray trousers shifting about his ankles with each step – how many fearsome creatures had Aglarel faced, to earn so many awful wounds? How many enemies of Thultanthar had died by his skillful, deadly hand?

"What are you doing?" the drow spoke up hoarsely – against his better judgment, it seemed to Aveil.

Aglarel selected a single implement and held it aloft, inspecting it with a practiced, appraising eye; in the lack of natural light the shadows that generally clung close to his body had diminished into a barely-visible gray fog, leaving the well-honed planes of his upper torso plainly visible in the light from the sputtering candle. "Much as I have enjoyed our little chat, I must admit I grow weary of your obstinacy. I thought I'd speed the process along, and I'd hate to get blood all over my shroud – it was a gift from my sovereign. I trust you'll understand."

The drow sat up a little straighter, his extremities straining against his iron bonds, though of course they didn't yield even an inch for all his efforts. His single working eye was wide as he watched the amber light play along the cruel silver edge of the instrument in Aglarel's hand. "Wait," he begged, squirming helplessly, his voice breaking on even that singular syllable. "Wait!"

"Oh don't worry," Aglarel shushed him, his voice a deceptive coo as he closed the distance between them and crouched right down so that he and the drow were eye-level with one another. "I have only a question for you – it's very simple. Your eye… the burgundy one… You can still see out of it, correct?"

He had set to tracing the point of the tool the length of the drow's jaw-line and back again; their captive actually whimpered. "Y-Yes, of course."

"I thought as much," said the Fourth Prince amicably, as though their mundane conversation was actually one of vital importance to him. "And the other one, the one with the scar… It is blind, isn't it?"

"What?" snapped the drow, clearly distracted by the uncomfortably close proximity of the small blade. "Yes. Why should that matter?"

Aglarel ignored the question and rocked back onto his heels, rising easily to his feet; he held out his hand toward the candle, letting the flames lick the length of the silver implement as he surveyed his prisoner with a practiced eye. Only when the sharpened edge of the blade was glowing a dull crimson did he retract his arm and lean forward, bracing his free hand against the arm of the chair and bringing his face within inches of his prisoner when he said, "So I trust you won't be needing that one, then."

Aveil caught on to his meaning not a moment too soon and wisely averted her eyes; the instant she squeezed her eyes shut the chamber filled with the drow's pathetic screams, individual words indecipherable in his hysteria. Fortunately the shrieks of agony did not last long – in less than half a minute, it seemed, the drow's cries had softened into mewling sobs. Aveil swallowed back the urge to be sick and dared to peer around the corner of the staircase again; Aglarel was standing straight now, his expression perfectly at ease as he painstaking wiped the little silver instrument clean on a plain white cloth.

Morbid curiosity drew Aveil's gaze back to the drow's face, where blood was seeping freely from his now-empty eye socket. The sorceress's stomach rolled unpleasantly.

"Let's start with your name," Aglarel requested nonchalantly, laying the cleaning cloth aside and holding the tool over the candle where it basked once again in the eager little flame. "That is, if you like your other eye where it is."

"Zek," gasped the wizard desperately, the first beads of red dripping from the point of his chin and staining the collar of his robes. "Zek Vandree."

"Very good," the Fourth Prince praised him mildly. "And how did you come to be in our fair city, Zek Vandree?"

The drow's good eye was darting around restlessly, as though he hoped the answer Aglarel desired to hear might be painted upon the softly-illuminated walls somewhere. His response was decidedly uncertain despite his best efforts. "A-A portal?"

"Yes, of course you used a portal to get here – it isn't as though our city is strategically placed on the _ground_ , within walking distance of your foul kind," Aglarel pointed out disdainfully, crouching down again and laying his elbows across his knees as he studied Zek's face; if he was at all put out by the blood still seeping from the gaping hole in the prisoner's face, he did very well to hide it. "Do not insult my intelligence by telling me what I already know. Did _you_ conjure the portal? Did some other black elf do it for you? What about the ones who came here before you, the assassin with the starmetal blade and the psionist? Was the means of entry the same for all of you?"

Zek, it seemed, was having a difficult time keeping up with Aglarel's constant stream of questions – the searing pain that was the constant reminder of the eye he had just lost undoubtedly played a part in his delirium, Aveil reasoned – and couldn't find it in himself to answer right away; Aglarel's eyes narrowed severely, the candlelight glancing off the silver of his eyes in a most ominous way. He leaned forward another inch, close enough that the drow could feel Aglarel's breath against his face, and hovered there silently as Zek stammered through what he hoped was a suitable reply. "I-I-I… I didn't, but… They didn't, and… They just… _appear_ …"

"Come now, Zek Vandree, you can do better than that," Aglarel chastened softly, and when the implement in his hand flashed up before Zek's face the drow flinched back and uttered another low sob. "I was going to take out your other eye if your answers displeased me, but I've had a change of heart."

For a moment, Zek visibly relaxed. "Oh, t-thank you… I – "

"I want you to see everything I do to you," the Fourth Prince finished, his voice soft as velvet but full of malice, and pinning the wizard's hand flat against the armrest of the chair with his free hand Aglarel brought the silver implement he held arcing down to sever Zek's littlest finger just below the second knuckle. Zek squealed and writhed in his chair, causing a few stray flecks of fresh blood to land upon Aglarel's bare chest, but the Fourth Prince paid this no mind as he stood up straight again and wiped the instrument clean on a sleeve of Zek's robes.

Aglarel tossed the severed finger across the room, where it was lost in the shadows in the far corners of the chamber that the faint candlelight could not reach; Aveil clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror, and swallowed back bile.

"The portals," Aglarel reminded coldly, and Zek slumped down as far as his bonds would allow and dissolved into pitiable sobs.

"Quartana says that the Spider Queen makes them," he whined. "That's all I know about them!"

"And who is Quartana?" Aglarel snapped immediately.

"A high priestess of House Baenre," Zek panted. "She was the one who brought us all together, she was the one who told us that she was doing Lolth's work – "

"She communes with Lolth directly?" Aglarel interrupted, pacing the floor to-and-fro in front of the chair in which Zek sat chained. "You must be more specific, Zek Vandree. You still have nine fingers left, and if you happen to run out I can always get creative."

Zek's shoulders wracked with sobs – he really was a wretched sight, Aveil thought to herself in disgust. Fortunately Aglarel's tactics seemed to be wringing results out of their captive, for in the next moment he became a little more forthcoming with his responses. "She said that she saw us all together in her dreams… She told us that Lolth speaks to her when she sleeps, telling her who to kill and when… She said that Lolth had named us her advance guard in the coming war with Thultanthar."

Aglarel visibly stumbled - in all the time she had known him, Aveil had never seen him do so. He turned fully to face Zek with an incredulous expression on his face; the sputtering candlelight undulated over the muscled planes of his torso, making him appear constantly in motion. "The Spider Queen has declared _war_ upon Thultanthar?! On what grounds?!"

"Please," begged Zek Vandree, tears streaking down his face from his single working eye. "You don't understand… They'll kill me if I tell you. No one was ever supposed to find out – "

Aglarel uttered a violent curse beneath his breath and closed the distance between the two of them in two long strides, and leaning right over he seized the drow's grimy ponytail and gave it a tug sharp enough to tear a few strands from the scalp; Zek howled but had no hope of escape, and with his throat so exposed Aglarel leveled the sharp silver tool in line with the drow's Adam's apple and pressed with exacting pressure – enough to break the skin and leave a single drop of blood staining the blade, but not enough to cause any lasting damage. "I don't think _you_ understand," Aglarel corrected, his words strangely clipped coming through his tightly-gritted teeth. "The last upstart who dared to oppose the High Prince was sealed beneath the foundations of the palace – buried alive, you might say. Is that what you want, Zek Vandree? Will you be nearly as frightened of your kind getting their hands on you when you are confined to a tomb of glass and forgotten beneath thousands of tons of rock?"

"Lim Tal'eyve!" the drow all but shrieked, his voice shooting through several octaves in his hysteria. "That's what the Spider Queen wants! She knows that Lim Tal'eyve has allied with Lord Shadow and now she's prepared to put an end to the entire Tanthul family for it! She's been sending us after you, trying to clear the way to him!"

"Are you his allies?!" Aglarel roared, his glinting ceremonial fangs just millimeters from the drow's sweat-stained face. "Did Lolth plant him here for this purpose?! Is his true aim to weaken us from the inside?!"

"I don't know!" Zek moaned, violent shudders ripping through his body. "I swear – "

"Oh, do you?" The point of the blade dug in, turning Zek's cries of agony into incomprehensible gurgles; Aveil, unable to bear any more, put the grisly scene at her back and fled up the stairs with the sound of the drow choking on his own blood filling her ears.

* * *

"This is never going to work," said Phendrana for the fifth time, his voice pained, and for the first time since they had become acquainted Lamorak actually rolled his eyes.

"Of course it will," the Third Prince corrected impatiently, reaching out and painstakingly adjusting the doppelganger's collar again until he seemed pleased with the way it draped open. "Even if we have misjudged him completely, we stand only to gain in this instance. Not even you can deny that much."

Phendrana wished he could argue, but he had accepted that Lamorak's logic was sound when first the prince had explained his proposal and it would seem in poor taste for him to back out now when the success of the operation hinged on his ability to seem convincing. After Lamorak had downed his half glass of wine he had torn Phendrana's chest-of-drawers apart, flinging clothes all over the doppelganger's bedchamber in his endeavor to locate the right outfit for the occasion; in the end he had chosen a form-fitting vest the color of cobalt with sapphires lining the breast pocket and a pair of black velvet breeches that Phendrana had insisted at first glance were a size too small for him. The vest bared Phendrana's midriff and the breeches left little to the imagination, but Lamorak had insisted over and over again that that was the point so Phendrana had kept his complaints to himself. Now they were standing between two abandoned apartment buildings in the Lower District, tucked in an alley out of sight of any prying eyes while they waited nervously for their third companion.

"I look ridiculous," Phendrana complained softly, shifting embarrassedly. Already he missed the comforting weight of his adamantine armor.

"No, you look convincing," Lamorak insisted. "Now stop fidgeting. You need to look at ease."

"I do not _feel_ at ease."

The Third Prince sighed. " _Pretend_."

Gentle footsteps behind them made them turn, just as Lux melted out of the shadows and joined them. His inquisitive green eyes swept over Phendrana's uncharacteristic attire with a single knowing glance, and in a rare display of humor he actually chuckled into the back of his hand. "Lord Phendrana, I am truly sorry."

"Not as sorry as you will be if you ever breathe a word of this to anyone," Phendrana promised. "What are you doing here? Aveil – "

"Is now indisposed, and so sent me in her stead," Lux cut in smoothly, making a real effort to make his face appear apologetic despite his obvious amusement. "The High Prince summoned her, but not before she gave me a name to pass on to you – Zek Vandree."

"Then we can only hope that name will mean something to Lim Tal'eyve," said Lamorak with a sigh, and he turned fully to face Phendrana. "Watch him carefully for any sign of recognition – if he reacts in any way that makes you believe he is somehow associated with the drow that Aglarel is holding in the palace dungeons, you need to leave at once so that we can take this information to the Most High."

"And if he doesn't?" Phendrana asked disdainfully, in a tone that suggested he was preparing himself for that particular scenario.

Lamorak crossed his arms firmly over his chest and fixed the doppelganger with a withering look. "Then I suppose you could either run away screaming or attempt to enjoy yourself for a change, though of course the former might arouse quite a bit of suspicion."

"Interesting choice of words," Lux pointed out quietly, in a tone so deceptively innocent that Phendrana couldn't help the unwilling chuckle that escaped his lips before he silenced it.

"Back to the villa with you, knave," Phendrana told the curious Shadovar boy. "You will need to make yourself available in case Aveil returns with any more information for us. If she does, seek out Prince Lamorak straightaway – I will be, er, otherwise occupied for a time."

Lux bowed politely before turning on his heel and heading back the way he had come; though Phendrana was certain he didn't blink it seemed to him that the boy vanished before his eyes. The moment Lux was gone Phendrana dropped his head into his waiting hands, battling back the mounting sense of shame and degradation that had been threatening to overwhelm him since the first moment Lamorak had divulged his unorthodox proposal.

"You should be going instead of me," Phendrana spat acidly, his voice slightly muffled by the palms of his own hands. "This was your idea."

"Except that Lim didn't approach me with his false promises and his flimsy gesture of goodwill," Lamorak reminded – a little too pleasantly considering the circumstances, it seemed to Phendrana. "He expressed interest in _you_ , not me. A visit from me would not have nearly the same effect." The Third Prince broke off, considering, before finishing in a much more understanding tone, "I will not be far if something goes wrong."

"This is never going to work," Phendrana repeated himself for the sixth time, resigning himself to voicing his real fear aloud. "My personal preferences are decidedly different than the tastes that are catered to within. My performance will be less than convincing."

Lamorak cut to the chase – they were out of time to bandy words back and forth so needlessly. "Phendrana, have you ever actually been in there?"

Phendrana's eyes widened self-consciously as he tried in vain to tug his too-tight vest down over his exposed navel. "What?! Of course I haven't!"

"Well, I have – I fathered my daughter within those walls, believe it or not, and I can tell you in confidence that your concerns are all unfounded. I suspect that Lim Tal'eyve's frequent presence has prompted the employ of a wider, more diverse array of attendants willing to offer their services – I have heard it told that Lim's appetite is as varied as it is voracious." Lamorak's hands landed upon Phendrana's shoulders as the doppelganger floundered for words, turning him in place and steering him in the direction of the entrance. "Go on now. There is no time like the present."

Phendrana tripped over his own feet as he made his way out of the dingy alley and approached the entrance, meticulously straightening his eclectic ensemble as he went; he kept his head down in the hopes that he wouldn't be recognized, but he couldn't help allowing his eyes to scan the street in both directions to ensure that he wasn't being followed. It was well past dark now, and the lateness of the hour had thinned the foot traffic in the Lower District considerably; there was a tavern half a block away that seemed to be brimming with patrons, as well as a seedy-looking brothel next door that appeared to have a steady stream of customers both coming and going, but the block he was on was deserted and he didn't expect he would be confronted, which was a great relief to him.

He chose not to linger at the door but knocked immediately – what was the point in delaying the inevitable?

Phendrana felt the bottom drop out of his stomach when the door opened to reveal Tenth Prince Rapha; he made a mental note to strangle Lamorak if he made it out of this in one piece. Rapha opened his mouth vehemently - Phendrana rocked back a step and prepared himself for the long-expected tirade – but he was saved from the volatile hexblade's fury when the door was wrenched open the rest of the way to reveal Lim Tal'eyve standing beside him. Phendrana had never felt so relieved to set eyes upon someone he so passionately despised.

"Well isn't this a rare surprise!" the drow laughed gleefully, clapping his hands together with a mischievous glint in his devious amber eyes.

It was obvious without Rapha's biting retort that he was something less than pleased by Phendrana's unexpected arrival, but he chose to be as forthcoming with his remarks as usual. "Is it?"

"Of course it is," Lim snapped, turning his head momentarily to glare at Rapha in a way that clearly stated he wasn't to be questioned – miraculously Rapha chose not to argue further, a fact that Phendrana noted with great interest as Lim swiveled to fix the doppelganger with what Phendrana supposed was his most inviting, winning smile. "To what do we owe this supreme pleasure, Phendrana?"

The doppelganger inwardly grimaced – he had been hoping his ridiculous attire would speak for itself, but then remembered that in life he was seldom so lucky. Squaring his shoulders, running briefly through all of the most important lines Lamorak had prepped him to say and hoping against hope he could deliver them properly, he looked the drow-shade square in the eye and said, "I have been considering your proposal a great deal since we last spoke, and given today's events I felt that it might be well worth my time to pursue the matter a little more seriously. I had rather hoped you might consider negotiating the terms of our partnership - if you still feel so inclined, that is."

Rapha's eyes – perpetually chill like Aglarel's, but tending closer in hue to platinum like Telamont's – flitted to Lim's face questioningly; he was wearing a strange look that may have been betrayal. "Do not tell me that you mean to enter into a similar arrangement with _him_? Look at him, Lim – he is a cheap nothing, if his chosen dress may serve as any indication."

Phendrana opened his mouth to protest hotly, but Lim interceded on his behalf. "Much as I enjoy your delightfully stereotypical jokes in a private setting, Rapha, I do find them tasteless and unimaginative in present company. Phendrana can hardly be considered cheap and he is anything but a creature of little consequence – why, I seem to recall just yesterday that he nearly crushed your windpipe using only the force of his own mind, isn't that correct?" He paused half a second, just long enough to glimpse the hint of a rebuff forming in Rapha's eyes, before overriding him smoothly. "As for his dress, consider the locale – speaking of which, let's move this conversation inside. I'm sure we'll all be far more comfortable there."

Tenth Prince Rapha spun away from the door wearing a long-suffering expression but Lim paid him no mind, instead standing politely away from the entrance and even stretching one arm out to indicate the room in a gesture of welcome; Phendrana stepped over the threshold and allowed the drow to close the door behind him, unsurprised when he also heard the telltale lock as Lim slid the deadbolt into place. Lim stood quietly at his side as Phendrana's eyes swept the interior of the establishment – though its exterior hinted at a dilapidated, perhaps even abandoned building, it was far more than that beneath the numerous enchantments Rapha had woven into the building's foundation in a rare show of discretion. In reality, Phendrana suspected there were few brothels in all of Faerun quite as lavish as the one he found himself in now.

"Thank you," he found himself muttering beneath his breath, unable to meet Lim's eyes as he expressed his gratitude. "The dislike Rapha feels toward me is reciprocated."

"I thought as much," Lim murmured back bemusedly, "but you needn't worry. I had motives for bringing Rapha to heel that run far deeper than my love for pleasure palaces such as these – namely that I knew he would be a stubborn one to cow. It has taken time, and more patience than I thought I would ever be able to muster, but he is coming around. But enough of that for now – should you like the tour?"

The term 'tour' was really just a loose formality; though spacious the establishment was all spread out on the ground level, but even that was larger than the kitchen, grand dining room, and reception hall of Villa Tareia combined. The primary chamber was completely strewn with lavish rugs and luxuriant furs and mounds upon mounds of brightly colored, tasseled pillows; a dozen women lounged about the room in various states of undress, conversing quietly amongst themselves while alternately shooting Lim and Phendrana seductive glances. The second largest chamber was off in the northwest wing, sectioned off by a heavy drape that Lim brushed past with a great flourish of his arm – behind this was a decadent bath, perhaps twice the size of the one in Phendrana's washroom, with a great cabinet filled with salves and unguents and salts standing in the far corner and a table filled with half-burnt candles blazing in the other. It was there they found Rapha – trying to look sulky, in Phendrana's opinion, but failing miserably as he had a nude serving girl under each of his arms. Additionally there were five smaller niches lining the eastern and southern walls, each of these also separated from the primary chamber by heavy curtains – these, Lim explained, were private suites that the other Princes of Shade used on their rare visits to the place when they wished to keep their trysts on the confidential side. Phendrana thought he heard activity behind one such curtain as they passed, and couldn't help wondering just who it was on the other side.

"And there you have it!" Lim concluded merrily when they had finished making the rounds, flinging himself down upon a mound of pillows stitched in handsome emeralds and rubies and golds; the moment it seemed he had made himself comfortable a trio of maids sauntered over and sank down beside him, murmuring soft words of welcome and massaging his shoulders and removing his supple boots. One of the girls was clearly of Netherese descent, with heavy dark hair and eyes characteristic of the descendants of the archwizards but with skin the slightly ashy hue of the Shadovar; the other two were obviously from the World Below, one with the olive complexion of the desert people of Calimshan and the other with skin the color of cream and eyes as blue as the sky on a summer day whom Phendrana suspected may have once been of Waterdeep. "A more enjoyable place in the City of Shade there is not, my friend."

"I believe you." Phendrana was still standing and knew he must look out of place, but he wasn't quite sure what to say next – especially not now, with the Calimshite slipping the robe from Lim's shoulders and baring the drow to the waist.

Fortunately, it seemed, Lim was a gracious host; he gazed up at the doppelganger through heavy-lidded eyes – taking note of Phendrana's suggestive dress again, it seemed – and asked, "Am I correct in assuming that you chose to visit me here, of all places, because you wish to mix your business with your pleasure? That can be arranged, of course – I have no doubt we can find someone to your liking." Lim sat up a little straighter and gestured lazily with one hand, indicating the other scantily-clad serving girls loitering about the primary chamber, and finished, "Ladies! Which of you would like the great honor of servicing the Mind of the Most High, the newly entitled Hero of Thultanthar, Phendrana?"

Half a dozen girls tittered in excitement; Phendrana supposed he would have felt flattered were he not already so preoccupied with feeling intensely embarrassed. The nearest girl, a truly lovely maid with golden hair who may have had celestial ancestry, wound her arms around the doppelganger's neck from behind and shifted just so that her slight curves molded to his back.

Phendrana gazed down at the expectant drow quite impassively, though inside he felt as though he was dying of shame; it was perfectly silent for the span of about three heartbeats, the time it took Phendrana to muster up his voice and whisper, "Forgive me."

In the blink of an eye Lim's lewd smile dissolved into a polite comprehension that the doppelganger hadn't expected to see; what happened next truly surprised Phendrana.

"A man should never be made to apologize for his desires," said Lim, shifting his wide smile to the girl draped over the doppelganger's shoulder. "Wylandriah, bring us some wine, if you please. And on your way back, be a dear and invite Malkith to join us – I suspect our guest of the hour might enjoy his company very much." And just like that the golden-haired beauty disentangled her limbs from Phendrana's neck and sashayed right on by, affording Phendrana the opportunity to sigh with relief. Lim gestured to the mound of pillows piled at Phendrana's feet, finishing, "Do make yourself comfortable – when you have everything you require, we will talk."

Phendrana knew that if he had any hope of getting any information out of Lim that he couldn't afford to refuse; without any further prompting he sank back against the plush pillows and reclined, letting his tense shoulders go slack and willing the rest of his body to respond in kind. He supposed he'd gotten it right when Lim beamed at him as though pleased – surely that was a good sign? Presently Wylandriah had returned with a decanter of Netherese heartwine and two glasses; they each took one, holding the delicate crystal steady as she poured, and Phendrana took a much-needed draft of his the moment it had been filled. Lim sipped more slowly, appraising the doppelganger over the rim of his own glass until something behind Phendrana caught his eye.

"Oh, Malkith, thank you for joining us. May I introduce Phendrana, the Mind of the Most High… This is his first visit, so do your best to make him feel welcome, hmm?"

Movement on Phendrana's right drew his gaze, and in the next instant the doppelganger unexpectedly found himself struggling to keep his composure. To use words such as _handsome_ or _attractive_ to describe Malkith would be doing him a great injustice; the young man sinking sinuously down next to him was quite positively striking, far more exotic than the traditional Shadovar fare Phendrana had grown accustomed to seeing in the Lower District. He may have been part-Netherese, but only just; his skin was paler than most Shadovar but retained just a hint of that gray pallor, giving him an alluring silver shade, and his limbs were slender and supple. His hair was dark but not quite black, with just a hint of chestnut in the tips of the strands that made his locks seem mahogany in the candlelight; his face was a devastating mix of high cheekbones, a narrow nose, and eyes the shade of the palest aquamarine stone that brought to mind arctic wildflowers in spring. Like Lim he was bare-footed and naked from the waist up, and when he smiled warmly at Phendrana the doppelganger's eyes inevitably followed the curvature of his lips.

"Now," said Lim with a lilting sigh of contentment, effectively bringing Phendrana back to the task at hand, "if you don't mind me asking, what prompted this visit of yours?"

Malkith's hands brushed along Phendrana's shoulders, his touch abnormally warm as he set to kneading the lithe muscles there with skillful fingers; Phendrana momentarily lost his train of thought, but thankfully the silence was not long enough for it to show. "Three would-be assassins have now somehow infiltrated the City of Shade, despite assurances that the security enchantments Prince Aglarel has put in place were never dispelled. It occurs to me that if I wish to serve the High Prince to the best of my ability, I had best not continue to trust in the competence of someone whose defensive efforts are clearly lackluster."

Lim was nodding along all the while, very obviously in agreement. "Yes – it's sad just how much faith the High Prince has placed in that one, isn't it? I will be frank with you, I cannot determine for the life of me how Aglarel ever managed to secure such an unshakeable position for himself at the High Prince's side. He is more fallible than the High Prince knows – though I daresay this chain of events might open our sovereign's eyes to the truth."

Phendrana smiled back at the drow lounging across from him, silently wishing that one day he might witness the moment when Aglarel at last put Lim in his place. "At any rate, I remembered your offer to – shall we say, grant me immunity from certain persons – if I were to confide in you, and that is why I have come. I had a vision of the drow who impersonated the High Prince – in my vision he killed Prince Aglarel."

"Truly?" Lim's eyes were wide, as though Phendrana had just told him a harrowing tale. "That is grave news indeed, my friend. Despite my qualms with the way Aglarel conducts the High Prince's business, I do not wish him any ill – it is fortunate indeed that Sceptrana Arthien had the presence of mind to enact countermeasures of her own. Had it not been for her quick thinking, I fear…" The drow let his sentence hang unresolved between them, taking a dainty sip of his wine. "Thank Shar that this most recent assassin was apprehended."

The fingers that worked Phendrana's upper back pressed a knot out of his trapezius and Phendrana barely stifled a moan, focusing to keep his thoughts on the matter at hand. "Yes, Shar be praised that this drow did not escape."

He had hoped that the subtle mention of the captive's race would spark a heightened sense of interest for Lim, but his companion reacted not at all to this news. He turned his head briefly to nuzzle the Waterdhavian's earlobe with the tip of his nose, murmuring something lascivious in her ear before saying, "What other dreams have you had? If we are to enter into business together, I should like to hear about everything you have seen – the better to help you act preemptively, of course."

Phendrana suppressed the nearly overwhelming urge to roll his eyes. "Nothing else as of yet – only the coming of Zek Vandree."

Lim looked puzzled. "Who?"

"The drow who was apprehended and imprisoned," Phendrana clarified somewhat impatiently.

"Oh, of course." Lim laughed genially, shaking his head at his own supposed cluelessness. "What a strange name – and unfortunately not one that I am familiar with." He frowned then as though troubled. "I had hoped it might be someone I was acquainted with once… All the better to advise the Most High when he calls on me next. This will not do. I know nothing more than I did before."

Phendrana nodded along, hoping that his expression appeared appropriately abashed, and marveled at the drow's acting skills. "Regrettable."

"Indeed." Lim held his wine glass out lazily toward the serving girl Wylandriah, who filled it at once. "Well, it was good of you to come to me in any case; I do hope you will continue to do so in the future. My only aim is to serve the High Prince to the very best of my ability – he has given me so much, you see, that I feel always compelled to please him even knowing that I could never possibly repay the debt that I owe. I suspect that even one day when I have completed that which I promised him I will still feel indebted to him."

The reminder of Lim's hefty promise was a lure that Phendrana could not ignore; he came forward off his pillows and Malkith came right with him, his fingers now deftly unfastening the buttons of the doppelganger's too-revealing vest. "I am amazed at your integrity," he confessed, hoping that flattery might get him somewhere. "Knowing that one day you will bring the Spider Queen down… I am in awe of you. But how will you do it? Have you some plan?"

"The details have yet to be determined," Lim answered loftily, "but the solution will come to me in time – of that I have no doubt. Patience is not my greatest virtue, unfortunately, but I am constantly reminding myself that what I am waiting for is well worth all this time."

It was an intriguing answer, so much so that Phendrana opened his mouth to continue with the next of his many burning questions, but he remembered his purpose there in the nick of time and wisely held his tongue. He needed Lim to believe that he had really come there seeking an alliance, for if the drow came to doubt him on any level he would choose not to confide in Phendrana and where would they be then? Lim seemed not to notice the doppelganger's moment of indecision, fortunately, and lay back in the arms of his mistresses, sighing contentedly as their hands roved his body hungrily; Phendrana was teetering on the edge of leaving, as he knew he should, and taking a page out of the drow's own book and allowing his more primal desires to rule his actions for once.

It was then that the nagging feeling that had been wheedling away in the back of his mind reared its head, and Phendrana's body grew abruptly rigid – he had just remembered why the name Malkith sounded so familiar to him. It was because that was the name of Brennus's previous liaison, the man the Twelfth Prince had renounced in order to pursue a more private relationship with Phendrana.

Suddenly the set of too-warm lips grazing the side of the doppelganger's neck made him feel violently nauseous, and it was all he could do to swallow back his disgust and keep from running out of Rapha's harem screaming. As it was he disentangled himself as politely yet insistently as he could from the other man without causing a scene and scrambled to his feet, all semblance of dignity lost somewhere between each of his ragged breaths.

Lim eyed him with a kind of lazy curiosity. "Leaving so soon?"

Phendrana struggled to come up with an excuse that would sound valid enough for him to leave without arousing too much suspicion. "I confess the events of the last two days seem to have caught up with me – I am very weary. These dreams… they tax me, I'm afraid. I have not been sleeping as much as I should, and it simply wouldn't do for my reflexes to become dull when the High Prince is so depending upon me to glimpse the dangers that might be coming our way. Might I call on you again sometime soon?"

"Of course," Lim agreed with an easy smile. "You are always welcome here, regardless of what Rapha might say. Do seek me out if you see anything else fascinating in your dreams, won't you?"

"Yes," the doppelganger agreed distractedly, and without sparing a single glance for the pliant Malkith still reclining at his feet Phendrana turned his back on the languid scene and focused solely on reaching the door. The deep breath he took the moment he was on the other side felt like his first real intake of oxygen since before he had entered the wretched place; he gulped the sweet air down greedily, as though he had never truly breathed before.

The moment the door snapped shut behind him Lim shook off the three maidens and padded across the chamber to the bath, parting the heavy drapes with an annoyed swipe of one arm; by that time Hadrhune had joined Rapha in the steaming pool and they were talking together in low voices. Both looked up curiously when they spotted Lim in the doorway.

"The doppelganger?" Hadrhune growled, his voice a low rumble of distinct disapproval. "Really?"

"Yet another means to an end," Lim assured him with a negligent wave of one hand, and though he was scarcely clothed he made no move to join the two shades and their giggling serving girls in the bath. "I am not certain what he hoped to accomplish in coming here, truth be told. I shall have to keep an eye on that one."

Ever-observant Hadrhune surveyed Lim with his all-knowing gaze silently for a moment before saying, "You are not staying."

"No – actually I have an errand to run, and I haven't another second to waste here. It's good that the doppelganger chose to leave when he did – he would surely have come to question me when I made an excuse to slip away."

The seneschal sat up a little straighter, his amber eyes probing Lim's for the true meaning behind his words; even Rapha couldn't pretend to be uninterested now. "Where will you go?"

Lim wrestled back into the arms of his robes and cinched the sash a little more firmly around his waist, his eyes glittering with barely-contained excitement. "The palace. There is a chance that that which I have been waiting for these long weeks has at last fallen into my midst. I must make haste."

* * *

It was well past midnight when Aglarel felt decent enough to call upon Aveil; had he sought anyone else's company he might have waited until morning, but the Sceptrana slept barely more than he did and he suspected that she might still be awake given the nature of the days' many activities. He shadow walked right onto her balcony with a mind to peek around the curtain – if she was asleep he would let her rest, he decided, for she was mortal still and so much weaker than he. He was mildly surprised to find her awake still, curled up on the chaise lounge in one corner of her bedchamber and reading a book by candlelight. He cleared his throat and stepped around the curtain.

Aveil looked up, her face suggesting she was somewhat annoyed with the interruption, but when she recognized her guest she laid her book aside and hastened to her feet so that she could offer a polite little bow. When she straightened it was to find that Aglarel hadn't moved an inch, still standing just inside the curtain as though uncertain what to say to her – it was quite unlike him, and succeeded in stoking her suspicion. Aglarel was seldom without words, and when he was it made her feel uneasy.

"The High Prince said you came looking for me," he pointed out, his voice emotionless, and Aveil's eyes dropped to her bare feet.

The grisly images of Aglarel torturing the unfortunate drow down in the dungeons replayed themselves behind her eyelids, disturbing enough to make her want to keep her eyes open and never sleep again – surely such nightmarish events would plague her dreams if she did. "You had been about your work for quite some time. I… was worried."

The uncharacteristic hesitancy in her voice was such that Aglarel didn't reprimand her; his voice was soft and unthreatening. "You had no reason to worry. I was in complete control of myself."

Aveil moved away from the chaise lounge and rounded the study desk to light a few more candles despite the fact that there seemed to be plenty of light in the room; Aglarel suspected she only did this to occupy both her hands and her mind for a moment in a bid to regain some of her lost composure. The match she struck illuminated her face, stark white beneath the heavy curtain of her jet-black hair which she had pinned back out of her eyes; the gown she wore was simple and white, halter-style and empire-waisted, floating gracefully about her voluptuous body with even the slightest movement. The fingers of her right hand twitched as she manipulated the match, as though even the simplest movement caused her injured arm some agony, but she was careful to keep the pain from entering her eyes.

She was always so careful to keep from showing any emotion around him that he wondered if he really knew her at all, and for some reason that singular thought vexed him more than the hours he had spent interrogating Zek Vandree ever could. He opened his mouth to question her, to stumble through some gruff, uncharacteristic show of concern that he was certain wouldn't seem in the least bit sincere, when she looked at him with wide, sad eyes and said, "Were you?"

Knowing that she had seen him in his most instinctually violent state made him feel both angry and ashamed. "You saw."

"Only for a moment." Her eyes were focused wholly on the unlit wick of the candle she meant to light; the match she held was burning down and the little flame had to be singeing her fingertips, but she didn't react in any way. "I thought you might need assistance."

"You thought I might not be able to handle my charge," Aglarel corrected darkly.

The wick caught and fire flared; Aveil pursed her lips and blew out the match, dropping it absentmindedly upon the wooden surface of the desk. Aglarel's eyes flitted to the thin tendril of smoke that wafted off of it until it dissipated completely. "I wanted to see for myself what you would do to him. I was curious."

Aglarel had expected to hear anything but that. "You thought I would kill him."

Aveil stood facing him now, the candlelight casting half her face in a flattering golden glow and the other half in deepening shadow. "Didn't you?"

"No," Aglarel snapped tersely, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he admitted, "I should have."

"You did the right thing, leaving him alive," Aveil disagreed, though her voice was anything but argumentative in that moment. "We will need all the information we can glean from him if we are to gain the upper hand in this predicament – maybe more than he has to offer. Who will answer our questions if he is dead?"

One corner of Aglarel's lips twitched up involuntarily when he said, "It seems he will be little help to us alive – toward the end I was not particularly careful with him, and instead of bartering whatever information I thought he might have been withholding in exchange for his life he simply begged me to show mercy. He knows nothing of value."

Aveil's delicate shudder was her only response to these words, but to Aglarel it spoke volumes. He started toward her slowly, his eyes fixed upon the shadowsilk dressing bound tightly around her arm, asking, "How is it?"

The Sceptrana stood very still, though it seemed to Aglarel that her body grew a little more rigid as he neared. "It does not bother me so much. It will not impede my duties."

He paused only a foot from her, his eyes searching her face for any hint of emotion. It frustrated him to no end that she had learned to master her emotional excesses with time – she used to be an open book, and now he was left guessing at her true thoughts. He supposed that was how she felt about him the majority of the time – perhaps she had learned to conceal her feelings simply by observing him. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to chastise her, and found himself grasping at the first excuse he could think of. "Why in the Nine Hells did you put yourself in that drow's way today? What were you thinking? Did you even once stop to consider the consequences had you failed?"

"We knew you were the drow's true target," Aveil explained, as though the answer should be obvious to him. "It stood to reason that if I impersonated you I could waylay him. Things progressed as easily as I could have hoped." She paused to flex her arm then, wincing, and added, "Well, almost."

Aglarel snarled suddenly, his ceremonial fangs glistening ominously in the semi-darkness. "You are under no circumstances permitted to intervene in such a way ever again. Do you understand?"

Aveil's chin jerked up haughtily, and for a split second the old Aveil was back – headstrong, abrasive, passionate. "Why? My methods were effective."

"Your methods were entirely too risky. You might have gotten yourself killed."

"But I didn't," she protested fiercely, hot violet fires dancing in the depths of her eyes as her anger mounted, and Aglarel was possessed with the wild urge to goad her into an even stronger reaction. This impulsive and rash Aveil was a creature he understood – he didn't just need her reactions to understand, he craved them. Conflict was something he could comprehend.

"I said I forbid it," Aglarel demanded, his voice low and authoritative, and though he could feel the opposition rolling off her in waves Aveil bit down on her bottom lip and managed to stem the flow of her swiftly mounting tirade. The Fourth Prince privately admitted that this disappointed him. "You are an emissary of the High Prince and thus not expendable. Do not forget that." She fell silent, brooding darkly, and for whatever reason Aglarel recalled something important then. "Tomorrow is the bridal masquerade."

Aveil's brow creased with something unreadable as she considered that; Aglarel knew without a doubt that she was remembering Phendrana's prophecy. "I know."

The words rolled off Aglarel's tongue before he'd even had time to consider them. "Are you afraid?"

He knew she was in the way that her teeth ground down upon her bottom lip again. A hollow echo of the doppelganger's words rattled around in Aglarel's memory then, haunting him, and he found himself similarly uneasy for the fate that awaited Aveil. Could it be thwarted, as all the others had been thus far? Were there always preventative measures one could take to alter the course of destiny? Or were some predetermined events simply unavoidable?

"No," Aveil said in a soft, introspective voice that didn't have Aglarel entirely convinced.

"I will be there with you," he reminded her, questioning his own words even as he spoke them aloud.

Aveil looked into his eyes then, searching for something he was loathe to name; she must have found whatever she was looking for, because whatever it was prompted her to say, "I know you will be. That's why I'm not afraid."

Aglarel gazed back at her for a moment, unsure of just what to say. He knew his stare must have been as intense as always, but for some reason Aveil did not look away.

"You should sleep," he told her at last. "Gather yourself for what tomorrow has in store. We will weather the storm when it comes, as we have done before." And then he was gone as abruptly as he had come, the shadow particles stirred up from his sudden departure blanketing the carpet beneath her bare feet.

"Yes, Prince," Aveil answered compliantly, fully aware that he wouldn't hear.

* * *

The lateness of the hour was such that Lim wasn't as cautious as he should have been when he entered the palace – even the High Prince and his guard dog Aglarel would surely be abed at this hour, he reasoned to himself, and he could come and go without fear of being discovered. He shadow walked right into the sublevel of the castle and slunk close to a wall, hardly bothered by the lack of light – he was as much a creature of darkness as the Shadovar were, no matter how many years he spent upon the surface world. The guards stationed further down the hallway monitoring the entrance to the dungeons were of little concern to him – he snuck right by them on foot, his every step soundless, his shade's body one with the darkness that the Shadovar always seemed so comforted by. If only they knew the other things that lurked unseen in the shadows, he thought bemusedly to himself.

He was sure-footed on the stairs, his vision shifting effortlessly into the thermal spectrum as he made his way down; he paused briefly when he reached the dungeons, his eyes sweeping the cells for any signs of life, but after noting that they were all empty he descended the last stone staircase into the chamber where the Princes of Shade – namely Aglarel – performed interrogations at the High Prince's command. Aglarel hadn't left that long ago, he reasoned – the faintly acrid scent of a recently-burned candle still hung in the air but it was extinguished now, leaving the chamber eerily dark and silent as the inside of a grave.

He stood motionless for a few heartbeats, his eyes taking in the heat signatures of blood cooling upon the floor at the prisoner's feet and the only slightly warmer heat still emanating from the bound captive's body, and then one eye opened in the other drow's face and Lim shifted his sight back into the light spectrum. He couldn't deny even to himself that the sight of all that blood was disturbing, and some part of him even nurtured a begrudging sort of respect for Aglarel and his morbid work.

The single eye was a burnt shade of burgundy, luminous even in the darkness as all drow's eyes were; the light was dull, as though the captive was not so alive as he used to be. When he spoke his voice was an odd gurgle, and given the amount of blood caking the drow's robes Lim thought he understood why. "You… you're Lim Tal'eyve, aren't you? The drow who escaped Lolth's imprisonment."

Lim spread his arms and offered a mocking little bow, never one to let any excuse for fanfare pass him by. "You've found me out, it seems – I am indeed him. And did I hear your name right? Zek Vandree?"

"Did you hear it from the mouth of the prince who tortured me?" Zek spoke the word _prince_ like an expletive that burned his tongue on its way out. "You forsake your own kind and fall in with these butchers? What could you have possibly gained?"

"All sorts of useful things," Lim admitted, hardly guilted by the other drow's scathing remarks. "Power, for one, something I have been sincerely lacking in since the Spider Queen stole the lichdom from my body. Prestige – the bounty of the Princes of Shade is generous when they feel they benefit from your company, and rest assured Most High Telamont will be reaping the rewards of placing his trust in me soon enough. I doubt you have ever received even so much as an expression of gratitude in all the years you've served the Matron Mother of House Baenre, am I right? I could go on, but I sense that your question might have been rhetorical and I have a very limited amount of time set aside to chat with you, I'm afraid."

Zek slumped in his chair – Lim knew it by the protesting clank of his steel manacles – though the hatred and revulsion in his single eye diminished not at all. "So it's true then – the trading of your mortal soul wasn't just a show of loyalty. You really have taken up with these shadow devils against your own people… against your own goddess."

Lim barked out a disbelieving laugh. "I assure you I am just as faithful to her now as I was in the very beginning." Then his laughter was rolling out of him in waves, its volume barely contained as he found mirth in the double meaning of his words, and all the while Zek Vandree continued to glare at him with poison in his gaze. "Yes, I truly mean to destroy the Spider Queen – and if I get my way I will not stop there. Now – given your opposition to my course I can only assume that you do not have anything for me?"

"What?" Zek blinked once, his confusion apparent, and Lim heaved a disappointed sigh.

"I thought as much," Lim mused regretfully, "though I cannot say I am particularly surprised. If you had come here seeking me out, I suspect you would have held up a little better under torture. I have heard tell of your cowardice – it is being said that you sobbed like a child."

He hadn't heard any such thing, of course, but it was easy to surmise how right he was just by looking into Zek's hateful eye. "And what was I meant to have brought you?"

"Oh, nothing," Lim told him dismissively. "Clearly you aren't the one, and the delicate nature of what I seek is such that I find myself unwilling to share it with anyone. Is more of your kind coming, or am I foolish to keep hoping?"

Zek's single eye narrowed, this time with malicious amusement. "Oh, they're coming," he promised in a steely tone. "The Spider Queen herself guides Quartana's hand and imparts her will upon her. When she gets here, nothing will stop her from sacrificing you to Lolth and ending your miserable, traitorous existence once and for all."

The length of Lim's sojourn from the Underdark was such that the name Quartana meant absolutely nothing to him, but he suspected that even if it had he would hardly be concerned with it. Whether from Phendrana's own mouth or the mouth of one of his trusted allies he would hear of the doppelganger's next vision, and he would plan accordingly. Lolth's emissaries had been getting the drop on the rest of the High Prince's trusted advisors, but they wouldn't catch him at unawares.

"She is welcome to try," Lim offered cordially, but then he shrugged his shoulders as though bored and Zek knew without asking that their conversation was swiftly approaching its end. "Well, Zek Vandree, I have enjoyed our chat – you have been most accommodating, whether that was your intention or not. It was my intention to let you live if you proved of no use to me, but I seem to have grown fond of you. I suppose I will grant you one last kindness – we are kin, after all."

Lim Tal'eyve took a page out of Phendrana's own book then, and crushed Zek Vandree's windpipe with the sheer force of his own mind until the drow was still and lifeless in his blood-soaked chair.


	10. When Emotions Run High

The scene was breathtaking in its beauty; all the flowers were magically in bloom and filling the air with their delicate fragrance despite the fact that the sun never broke through the perpetual veil of shadows that cloaked the city, white snapdragons, lilies and freesia as well as deep purple lilacs and irises. The aisle was a slate-gray cobblestoned pathway beneath a sprinkling of perfect white rose petals, leading up to a magnificent archway of white lattice along which violet clematis and white trumpet vine had grown together in interlocking fashion. The backdrop was similarly lovely, the palace gardens with their expertly-trimmed hedges and sweeping lawns and the back face of the Palace Most High rising up from the greenery in all its majesty. The view was in stark, almost surreal contrast to the scene playing out beneath the canopy of stunning flora.

It was Soleil standing there beneath the flower-encrusted archway, clad in the spectacular deep purple wedding gown that her handmaidens had labored ceaselessly for a tenday to perfect for the occasion; in Phendrana's opinion she had never looked more beautiful, her skin cream and roses and her hair braided into an elaborate plait that draped over one of her slender shoulders. The engagement ring she wore, a square-cut sapphire trimmed in glittering diamonds, was rivaled only by the high crown of platinum and blue diamonds that was nestled upon the dark strands, the jewels of the last Queen of Netheril that Melegaunt and Brennus's mother had worn when she became the last bride of High Prince Telamont. Soleil was a goddess wearing a look of panic and terror with the starmetal blade of the assassin resting precariously against her snowy white throat.

Phendrana knew he was trying to reason with the drow who held her hostage but the words were not audible; everything had the strangest misty quality to it, as though it couldn't possibly be real. It made Phendrana even more uneasy, for he knew he wasn't imagining the ordeal – nothing that made him feel this sick with horror could possibly be one of his own hallucinations or a trick conjured as some manner of twisted, cruel joke. Soleil's eyes were upon him, wide and golden as the sun in the desert and so desperate that he wanted to weep.

He knew he couldn't save her – knew it in the depths of his bones – but he couldn't find the words to tell her how sorry he was that she was going to die all on account of him.

"Not her," he heard himself saying, his voice lifeless and hollow and almost unrecognizable even to his own ears. "Take me instead." His own life was all he had to offer her, and he knew even that would not be enough.

The blade moved – the stroke was so smooth that Phendrana almost didn't see it. Then everything was crimson, and he was so mortified that he bent right over to retch –

Phendrana sat bolt upright in his bed then, his breathing wild and gasping though his heart was as eerily still as always within his chest and his entire body covered in a thin sheen of icy cold sweat.

It was morning; the bells were tolling within the spire of the Church of Shar, marking the start of early mass. Though he had slept more than he had since his strange dreams had started coming true he didn't feel at all rested; his eyelids were heavy and his mind felt foggy with lingering exhaustion. Still he didn't think he could go back to sleep even if he tried – this newest dream had been so lifelike that he had sworn for a few moments that it was truly happening, and he knew that sensation wouldn't fade anytime soon. Instead he flung the sweat-soaked quilt away from his legs and rose groggily to his feet, his eyes upon the gauzy curtain that separated his private washroom from his bedchamber.

He was still sitting in a hot, bubble-filled bath with his back too straight and his eyes gazing into nothingness when Lux came upon him half an hour later. "Phendrana? Are you alright?"

The doppelganger's eyes slid unwillingly back into focus and fixed themselves upon the fine china mug and saucer the Shadovar boy held in his hands. There was steam wafting from the mug and the faint scent of chamomile in the air, barely noticeable over the much stronger bouquet of lavender that clung to the bubbles drifting lazily across the scalding water; Phendrana reached one hand out to accept the mug and put it to his lips eagerly, ignoring the burning sensation upon his tongue as he drank. When he spoke his voice was as hoarse and distant as it had been in his dream and that frightened him. "I thought the bath might help calm my nerves."

Lux's fingertips were upon Phendrana's forehead, his eyes searching and clinical; the expression was one Lamorak might have worn as he endeavored to get to the bottom of his newest puzzle. Evidently he found something telling in Phendrana's face for in the next moment he was regarding the doppelganger with no small amount of concern. "You had another dream, didn't you?"

"Will it never end?" Phendrana murmured hopelessly, more to himself than his companion, his mood darkly introspective. "Do we face a ceaseless parade of assassins who will refuse to relent until they have eradicated every last one of us?" His hands lifted themselves from the water and he dropped his head into them, his damp fingers curled into claws as though he wished he could tear the images from his memory. "I know Prince Lamorak feels I have been given a gift and there is no denying that it has its uses, but I would sooner be rid of it. The ability to see the future is hardly a boon for me – whenever I sleep I have no choice but to glimpse the death of someone I care for. There is little I wouldn't give to stop these visions from plaguing me."

"I would take them from you if I could," Lux vowed softly, and the sincerity of the words coming from the ever-enigmatic child surprised Phendrana into silence. It was quiet for a long time as Lux sat there cross-legged at the edge of the bath and Phendrana stared through the cracks between his fingers at the crystalline bubbles skirting the surface of the water, and though Phendrana suspected Lux wanted very much to ask whose death Phendrana had seen he kept the inquiry to himself, for which the mindmaster was eternally grateful. "You have been summoned. I wanted to wait until you regained your composure before I mentioned it."

Phendrana lifted his head wearily. "By whom?"

"Fourth Prince Aglarel. He is waiting for you at Villa Hara and commands you to come right away. There has been… a development." The way Lux spoke the last two words made Phendrana wish he could remain ignorant on the matter, but the idea of deliberately avoiding a summons from Aglarel made Phendrana shudder with anxiety. Better he not keep the Fourth Prince waiting if he could possibly avoid it – he didn't want to be the reason for a flaring of Aglarel's foul temper.

Lux slunk back into the bedchamber, leaving Phendrana to towel himself dry and don his robes of gray-and-silver; when he returned to his private quarters there was an elegant garment draped over his immaculately-tidied bed, and he ran his fingertips over the fine fabric admiringly. The garment was white silk, roomy slacks and a shirt with a high collar and wide bell sleeves; the collar was cloth-of-gold, as were the cuffs that hung at his ankles and wrists, and on the whole was just as understated as Phendrana preferred. The most lavish piece in the entire ensemble was the cape that cinched at the right shoulder – golden like the most radiant sunshine and fluid like water to the touch. Were he wearing it he suspected it would drape down to his knee; the brooch that pinned it in place was an oval-shaped pearl set upon a spider web of golden filigree.

"What's this?" asked Phendrana blankly, tracing the face of the pearl with one fingertip.

"Your attire for the masquerade this evening," said Lux, and retrieving something from the desk he approached and held out his hand. "As well as this."

The mask he held matched the handsome clothing he had chosen, its face white alabaster with swirls of artistic gold etched along the cheeks; the outline of the eyes was buttery gold and flecked with glitter. Phendrana was glad to see that he would be able to breathe freely through his nose and that the lower half of his face wouldn't be encased in porcelain, yet he wondered if he would feel claustrophobic wearing it all the same. "I'm glad it's so… light," he confessed sheepishly with a rueful little smile. "I don't think I could stand to wear something black at a time like this."

"I thought as much," Lux agreed, his tone light and conversational. "I'm pleased that you like it, but for now I must insist that you be on your way. Aglarel was less than pleased when he called upon you."

"I wonder why?" Phendrana mused aloud, and with a sigh he entered the Shadow Realm and hastened in the direction of the Fourth Prince's familiar aura.

Aglarel was pacing the length of his bedchamber when Phendrana arrived, his head bowed and a scowl etched upon his face; he was alone, a fact that the doppelganger noted with a certain measure of discomfort – while he felt he was growing ever more used to Aglarel's company he privately admitted that the prince made him distinctly uneasy with his intensity. He didn't look around when Phendrana appeared, though he must have taken note of his presence.

"I suppose you will tell me that you didn't set foot within the dungeons last night," he said by way of greeting, "and further complicate this matter."

"The dungeons?" Phendrana echoed, taken aback. "Of course not. Why should I have?"

"I thought as much." Aglarel's pacing ceased but his body relaxed not at all, the set of his shoulders tense and wrathful. "An hour ago I returned to check on the drow we captured – he died sometime during the night."

The shock of this revelation was such that Phendrana stumbled, catching himself upon the corner of the desk and leaning against the surface for support; he could feel his eyes growing uncomfortably wide and knew that if he were still mortal the color would be draining from his face. "How can that be?" he gasped incredulously. "Was he not alone? Were the palace guards not keeping watch over him?"

"I have already questioned the guards," Aglarel spat, his expression suggesting that he did not find their testimonies particularly helpful. "They insist that they held their posts until dawn and that it is inconceivable that someone might have slipped past them in the night, but I suspect they were not keeping watch as closely as they should have been. There are enchantments woven into the walls of the dungeons that make shadow walking in and out of the place virtually impossible, not to mention a number of other countermeasures that would alert the guards if an intruder came too close. Whoever managed to bypass those enchantments must have known what to look for… I suspect one or more of the High Prince's advisors are responsible for this, but I have no proof to support my suspicions."

"Why did you ask if I had been there?" Phendrana inquired, dreading the answer.

Aglarel blew out a frustrated sigh and looked the doppelganger square in the eye, wearing an expression that was almost sympathy. "I have inspected the body – it seems his windpipe was crushed and he choked on his own blood. The blow was inflicted with significant force, but there is no bruising consistent with such an injury – it was not a physical assault, but a telekinetic one. The strike brings to mind your assault on Rapha two days past."

"I didn't," Phendrana protested numbly. "I swear it."

"Of course you didn't," Aglarel agreed impatiently, "but someone wanted us to think you had. Thus far I have been successful in keeping the particulars of Zek Vandree's death from reaching the ears of the other council members, but it can only be a matter of time before the truth becomes known to them – when it does, you will be implicated in this matter. Someone has framed you, though to what end I have yet to determine."

Phendrana was incensed at the thought but did well not to let it show; only the clenching of his hands into fists at his sides gave away his true feelings. "But who would do such a thing, and to what end?"

"I suspect Lim Tal'eyve is involved, but I still have no proof to support any of these theories – the drow has been careful up to this point to avoid any scandal attaching these events to his name." The helpless frustration Phendrana read in Aglarel's face was all too familiar to him, for he had been mired in it himself of late. "Lamorak tells me that you were admitted last night into Rapha's harem, and that Lim met with you – I must confess, it was a most ingenious plan."

"A pity it didn't amount to anything," Phendrana interjected, before Aglarel could gain any momentum. False hope was not something either of them were in the mood to contend with at present. "I made a fool of myself, no more."

"We must continue to wear away at Lim's resolve, that is all," said Aglarel determinedly. "He will slip up eventually, and when he does it will not escape our notice."

Phendrana found himself nodding along, but truth be told he was exhausted at the prospect of shadowing Lim's every movement for the weeks, months, or years it might take for the drow to make even one noteworthy mistake. He couldn't blame Aglarel and Aveil for steadfastly sticking to their crusade – after all, he didn't trust Lim any more than either of them did – but what if they _were_ wrong after all? Wasn't there a possibility that Lim truly was dedicated to the Most High, as he had ceaselessly attested since the day of his transformation? Were they, Aglarel and Aveil and Phendrana himself, the real rebels within the City of Shade for opposing the inner workings of one of the High Prince's faithful?

"Yes," Phendrana agreed tiredly, for it was all he could bring himself to say on the subject without the risk of offending Aglarel, and at present he didn't think he had the will to defend himself if that were the case. He knew that his face was empty and vague, but he was still astounded when Aglarel read volumes into the doppelganger's extended silence.

"You've had another vision, haven't you?"

Phendrana blinked and made his eyes refocus. Aglarel was studying his face with great care, and Phendrana thought there might have been a faint trace of the hopelessness he felt somewhere in the depths of the prince's eyes. He nodded, crestfallen, unable to speak the words aloud.

"Who?" Aglarel's voice was oddly gentle. Far from finding such a tone disarming, Phendrana felt even more unnerved by it.

"Soleil." The doppelganger's voice cracked as he said her name, for in his mind's eye he was reliving the scene of her death with damning clarity.

Aglarel had never held much love for Soleil – as Phendrana understood it Aglarel himself had caught Soleil haunting the halls of the palace as a child, on errand for a secretive guild in Waterdeep whose mission was to eradicate the monarchs of Faerun whom they considered unjust – but even he seemed troubled by the news. It was no secret to anyone within Thultanthar just how much High Prince Telamont adored the princess-to-be, nor was his desire for his eldest son to begin producing heirs by her a surprise to anyone. "Do you know when?"

Phendrana nodded numbly again. "The wedding."

The Fourth Prince's face hardened as his resolve returned to him, and reaching up he caressed the small black amethyst that pierced his right ear with the pad of his index finger, saying, "Then we have more to do." Presently the prince's own shadow darkened and began to take on a shape all its own, heralding Aveil's arrival in their midst; she materialized only a few inches away from Aglarel and abruptly froze beneath the intensity in his gaze, though for a long moment neither could look away. Phendrana watched curiously as they drank in the sight of one another, and though their faces were carefully blank their eyes were tumultuous with unspoken emotions. Barely five seconds passed before they seemed to remember themselves, and simultaneously they put space between them as Aglarel addressed her. "While we prepare ourselves for the arrival of the drow whose mission it is to eliminate you, we must also take into consideration how best we might protect Soleil on the day of her wedding to Escanor. It is but days away now, and Phendrana has just informed me that he has glimpsed her death in a dream."

Aveil ran a hand down her face, looking just as haggard and flustered as they did; the shadowsilk dressing clung to her otherwise bare arm, though it didn't seem to be hindering her movement much. She was back in the skirt and corset ensemble she had worn the night previous, and for some reason Phendrana couldn't quite grasp it seemed Aglarel was determinedly looking anywhere but directly at her. "We must put an end to the schemes of these drow for good and all, for we are stretched so thin as it is that it can only be a matter of time before something of importance escapes our notice. You are certain it will happen on the day of the wedding?"

"Beyond any doubt," Phendrana confirmed. "She was in her wedding dress when I saw her. The first assassin that found his way into our midst, the one who came to murder the High Prince while he slept, was the one to kill her in my dream. In his hand was the same starmetal blade."

"This is monstrous," Aveil went on, her voice trembling. "To attempt to kill the bride-to-be of the High Prince's eldest son on the day of their union… This is unthinkable. Shar help us all if this heinous plot should succeed - the Most High will raze all of Faerun to the ground, and rule over a graveyard."

"Ignoring the obvious fact that that is the High Prince's birthright," said Aglarel smugly, "We will need to start discussing countermeasures to prepare for this possibility."

"Should we tell the High Prince?" Aveil suggested. "Or perhaps Prince Escanor?"

Aglarel considered that, stroking his chin thoughtfully with one hand. "I don't think we should act quite so drastically – the High Prince has great reason to be excited, and who can blame him? The marriage of his eldest son is something he has been looking forward to for many centuries now – best we do all that we can on our own, rather than risk spoiling the occasion for him. As for Escanor, I suspect he would only be angry with us. I have seen him little of late, and I suspect his beloved fiancée is the reason for his absence from most matters of council."

"Soleil should surely know then," Phendrana concluded, confident that this was the correct course of action. "It is her life in question here."

Aveil barked out a single harsh, cold laugh. "You would inform a woman of her seemingly inevitable death mere days from her wedding? Forgive me for saying so, but I find that unnecessarily cruel. Tell her if you must – I, for one, will not stop you – but do so at your peril!"

"Very well," the doppelganger snapped, irked by the Sceptrana's smug expression and the fact that they didn't seem to be taking his warnings very seriously. "I will go and tell her – she would rather stay well informed, I am sure, than find out later that she has been kept in the dark at unawares."

"As you will," Aveil continued to chuckle, and turning she bowed to Aglarel. "I will take my leave if it pleases you – I require some time to prepare for the masquerade."

"You are both dismissed," Aglarel told them stiffly. "I must go to the High Prince now and explain the death of Zek Vandree." His eyes strayed back to Phendrana then, who was moving for the balcony, and added, "You should keep yourself available for questioning. He might have need of your testimony, given the delicate nature of the drow's murder."

"Send for me if there is a need," Phendrana bade the prince compliantly, and turning in a slow circle he took his leave of them and made for the Shadow Realm. Once there he paused, running a hand down his face and pondering the business he had elected himself to complete. Had it been anyone but Soleil in question he might have considered handling the situation otherwise, but the mountebank was the truest friend he had had since coming to reside in Thultanthar and thought she would be grateful for the timeliness of his warning. If through his own actions her life was spared in the end, what would it matter if he caused her a few additional days of undue stress?

He paused when he reached the interdimensional tear that would lead him back into the Material Plane and into her private quarters, struck momentarily motionless with a sudden wave of intense guilt. It occurred to him that in the months since his transformation he had barely spoken with her – hadn't he once called her a great friend of his? He shook his head, silently castigating himself. He hadn't thought he had fundamentally changed since he had become a shade, but perhaps he was wrong about himself after all.

When he stepped through, the sight that met him froze him in his tracks. It wasn't anything particularly out of the ordinary – just Soleil and Escanor sitting very near one another at the dining table, enjoying a light brunch and chatting amiably together. As he watched Soleil laughed and pecked her husband-to-be swiftly on the cheek; Escanor's copper eyes twinkled down at her, obviously captivated by her exquisite charm. The scene simultaneously warmed Phendrana's insides with its heartfelt cheer and made him feel almost desperately lonely – once he had known a love like theirs, and in the absence of it he found that he envied them. He wanted to move forward and address them, but his feet wouldn't obey; he opened his mouth to speak a greeting, or a warning, or anything at all, but the words stuck in his throat and wouldn't come out.

In the end he fled back into the safety of the Shadow Realm without even announcing his presence to them, silently vowing that he would preserve their love even if it meant the death of him.

* * *

The rest of the day passed so uneventfully that Phendrana couldn't help his growing suspicion that something was bound to happen, but for once everything seemed almost serene within the Palace Most High. He attended the afternoon council session at the High Prince's request where the only topic was the newest details regarding the drow and their isolated assassination attempts, but even the High Prince had little to add. The news that Zek Vandree had been found killed earlier that morning seemed to shock no one – a fact that Aglarel seemed to note with great frustration, as he had been hoping to weed out the killer through vigilance alone, it seemed – and Telamont did not divulge any further details. Phendrana had been half expecting his sovereign to mention the cause of the drow's death offhandedly – he had silently been building up his defenses, preparing himself for the onslaught of fresh suspicion that would inevitably level his way – but Telamont chose to keep those details to himself and the council was left to guess at just how the drow had met his end. Phendrana was grateful for the High Prince's discretion, but intensely guilty all the same. Had he performed any great acts of kindness or valor in all his time serving the Princes of Shade that might have earned him such unshakeable trust from his sovereign? He certainly didn't feel that he had.

He busied himself with studying the faces of those around him and even occasionally allowing himself to read their surface thoughts when he felt confident that such an action would come at no risk to him, hoping that through such attentiveness he might gather some clues as to who may have committed the crime, but he gleaned very little from those around him. Soleil and Escanor were understandably distracted, so he spent little time reading into their thoughts; Hadrhune seemed to be brooding, though Phendrana couldn't see any cause to be concerned as that was the seneschal's natural state of thinking in his opinion. There was a general buzz of excitement mixed with tension that he understood well enough – the upcoming nuptials was the source of the elation, and the continued interference of the drow with no real resolution in sight left everyone's thoughts tinged with uneasiness. He focused on Lim as much as he could without arousing the drow's suspicion, but Lim was just as genial as Phendrana had come to expect and neither his thoughts nor his expressions gave anything away. Mostly he watched Brennus, trying not to be hideously obvious about it, fascinated with the youngest prince's unwillingness to offer his opinion on any issue and by the blank, empty expression that seemed to have been frozen upon his once-emotive face. He might have spoken once during the course of their meeting, and even then his voice was a hollow, monotonous thing that reminded Phendrana not at all of the man he had once loved beyond logic or reason.

All in all he was more dejected after the council session than he had been before and returned to Villa Tareia only because he felt he had nowhere else to go, grateful, as he always was, that he could at least expect Lux to be awaiting his arrival when he returned; naturally when he stepped into his bedchamber and found it to be empty his spirits fell, but there was something else awaiting him. It appeared to be an expertly-carved box constructed of cherry wood, so recently made that he was able to brush a few stray wood shavings off the lid when he reached out one hand; undoing the simple bronze latch he lifted the lid to find a single sheaf of parchment had been laid overtop the contents of the package, bearing only two words written in an unfamiliar hand.

 _A gift._

Beneath the heavy parchment, nestled upon a bed of black velvet, was a delicate silver circlet in the fashion of interlocking tree branches. There was a single stone embedded in the crevice where the branches met, a triangular-cut, pale orange topaz the size of his thumbnail; its face was perfectly smooth but the facets formed a starburst pattern, giving the illusion that its depths were endless. He rolled the accessory over in his hands with exaggerated care, examining it at every angle, fascinated and flattered and curious all at once.

The door opened very quietly, a sure sign that Lux had arrived. "Do you require any assistance readying yourself for the masquerade, Phendrana?"

The doppelganger ignored the question, stroking the glittering gem with a fingertip. "Lux, who has been in my chambers today?"

"To my knowledge, no one." The Shadovar boy crept to his side, pinching the heavy sheaf of parchment between his thumb and forefinger and lifting it to his eye level to inspect it. "Why?"

Phendrana wordlessly held out the shining circlet; Lux's eyes grew wide as saucers . "Do you recognize the handwriting?"

Lux was shaking his head even before Phendrana had finished his sentence. "I don't, unfortunately, though I am rarely out of the villa for any reason. I can tell you that no one who resides within this residence has written this note – I would most certainly have seen if they had."

Phendrana replaced the circlet upon its plush velvet liner but didn't shut the lid of the box, admiring the piece despite his sudden sorrow. A part of him had hoped at first glance that perhaps the gift had come from Brennus, and abruptly he was furious with himself for even considering such a distant possibility. Why would Brennus give him anything when he could hardly spare him a glance?

"Will you wear it?" Lux inquired softly, and Phendrana found himself nodding unconsciously.

"Yes, I think I will."

* * *

In the end he departed for the Palace Most High on foot and unaccompanied – he had thought to go with Aglarel and Aveil, perhaps, but hadn't heard from either of them since the council meeting had adjourned and supposed there was a reason for their absences. There were lanterns lining the cobblestoned pathway leading to the great palace gates, magically lit in hues of cerulean and jade and magenta and chartreuse, and when he drew up to the gates the guards bowed him inside most graciously. Unused to such treatment he stumbled over his own feet a bit as he struggled to regain his bearings, and suddenly felt nothing but grateful that he had come alone – surely he was the most uncoordinated shade that had ever existed.

The main hall was similarly lit with lanterns in a menagerie of whimsical colors; he followed the path of faerie lights, drawn by the faint sounds of music and soft voices and the tinkling of glasses. He remembered well where the ballroom resided in relation to the rest of the palace – it was the first place he had visited even before he had pledged to serve Telamont, drawn by invitation to celebrate the High Prince's birthday. Memories engulfed him as he approached, the most poignant of which were talking with Brennus in a private side hallway regarding the rumors of Lim Tal'eyve's return and then taking on the guise of Kiora Silvenstorm and dancing with him as though he hadn't a care in the world. Even his friends had been with him then – Rosalles, Aust, Aidan, and Ivy – but he didn't feel remorse as he thought of them now. So much had changed… _He_ had changed. If only he had known just how different his life would be now, not even two years later.

The doors were thrown wide when he reached the ballroom, surprised that his feet had carried him so far while he reminisced; there were six guards flanking the doors on either side with weapons in hands and Phendrana was certain he would have to remove his mask to prove his identity, but just as the gate guards had done they bowed almost reverently and moved aside for him. Phendrana had to concentrate on not tripping this time, and was relieved when he managed it.

There was a herald at the top of the staircase that would down to the spacious ballroom, and when Phendrana's foot hit the topmost stair on his descent the man clacked the butt of the scepter he held against the cool black marble underfoot and bellowed an introduction over the pleasant din below. "Lord Phendrana, Mind of the Most High, Hero of Thultanthar."

Phendrana wasn't certain he had ever been so embarrassed, and kept his eyes locked upon his feet in an effort to avoid the eyes he felt upon him. Lux had assured him he looked quite dashing in his white satin cloth and his golden cape draped over his right arm; he had even gasped when the doppelganger had donned the shining silver circlet, murmuring beneath his breath that Phendrana might easily be mistaken for royalty. With all that in mind as he reached the bottom of the staircase and at last lifted his head he wondered if Lux had been right after all, for the lesser nobles of the Upper District gathered closest to the stairs all murmured appreciatively and bowed when his eyes swept over them.

There was something both intensely humiliating and oddly empowering about that, and for some reason Phendrana felt comforted by the thought that his face was partially concealed by the mask he wore.

He accepted a glass of Netherese heartwine from a passing waiter and kept to the furthest reaches of the ballroom, taking in the extravagant surroundings and the lavish costumes the other guests wore. There were a few tables lining the outermost edges of the ballroom floor but few people were seated, preferring instead to mingle with the other nobles or whirl gracefully around the dance floor; those who were seated were being fawned upon by waiters who were constantly weaving through the crowds with trays laden with the most exquisite dishes the doppelganger had ever laid eyes on. Even the high table where the High Prince and his court sat, now set with seventeen great thrones all facing toward the festivities, was completely vacant, and Phendrana wondered vaguely if he was the first among the High Court to arrive or if others were already here mixed in with the crowd of masked partygoers. Nestled in the northwestern corner a string quintet had set up – two violins, a viola, a cello, and a double bass – and were playing sweet music at a low volume that easily allowed for conversation. There were handfuls of the same fanciful lanterns magically suspended high above each of the tables, and still more adorning the grand chandelier overhead; they provided the only light in the hall, a subtle mixture of sapphire and emerald and lavender and auburn that cast everything they touched in a flattering and mysterious light. Phendrana passed beneath a cluster of jewel-green lanterns as he meandered about the hall and was for a moment mystified by the effect the light had upon his glittering golden cape.

The herald clacked his staff upon the floor. "His Royal Majesty Lamorak, Third Prince of Shade, Determinist Prime – and the Lady Irileth." Phendrana turned back and lifted his gaze to the top of the stairs as he, and all the rest, witnessed the prince's descent.

And truly, it was the most regal the Determinist Prime had ever looked. His dress was much akin to Phendrana's, slacks and a long-sleeve button down that appeared to be hand-spun silver satin, cuffs and collar both a deep navy; he wore high black boots that nearly reached his knee as well as a floor-length cape of a dark blue that was fastened to his shoulders with two glittering sapphires whose endless facets brought to mind the deepest depths of the ocean. The mask he wore covered the upper half of his face, silver near his eyes and lightening to white as it rose, one side flared like flames in a hearth; the crown upon his head was platinum adorned with sapphires, five in all and each a priceless treasure. The girl on Lamorak's arm appeared to be quite young for a Shadovar, her skin an ashy gray and her eyes the color of moonstone; her hair was pinned back from her face in loose curls, and both her gown and her mask were a warm teak. Phendrana approached them when the crowd had cleared and spread his hands as he bowed, but Lamorak laughed and drew the doppelganger up straight with his free hand.

"A fine evening to you, friend," Lamorak said warmly, and Phendrana couldn't help but smile. The prince indicated the lady he escorted with one hand, saying, "May I introduce to you my daughter, Irileth. She is both a senior Determinist at the guild and a member of the Assassin's Guild, sometimes a personal attendant to my brother Aglarel."

Phendrana took Irileth's hand and placed a polite kiss against her soft skin. "Madam, it is a pleasure to meet you." He looked back and forth between them, briefly assessing, before adding, "The resemblance is most pronounced."

"You are very kind," said Irileth with a smile and a curtsy. "I have been told that I favor my father in many ways." Someone called her name then and she cocked her head to one side, taking in the small group of lesser nobles who had hailed her, and finished, "Father, with your permission."

"Of course," Lamorak told her graciously, and with a last wave at Phendrana she released her father's arm and moved to join her friends; Lamorak turned back to face the doppelganger, taking in his formal garb with a practiced eye and nodding as though pleased. "You are every bit the man the High Prince insisted you would be one day, Phendrana. No one can question that you belong here."

"Yet some of them still do," Phendrana joked with a wink, and it was Lamorak's turn to laugh. "Shall we walk?"

They moved through the surrounding droves of nobles, ignoring those bowing and offering other gestures of obeisance as they passed; Lamorak walked right at Phendrana's side, almost shoulder to shoulder as they bypassed the most congested portion of the ballroom floor and made for the outermost edges of the great hall. Phendrana sipped occasionally at his wine and Lamorak politely declined a glass of his own when offered one by a passing waiter – generally he preferred not to drink – and didn't speak for quite some time; the doppelganger found the silence to be comfortable and companionable and not at all disconcerting. It wasn't until they had completed one full circle around the perimeter of the spacious ballroom at their leisurely pace that Lamorak spoke again.

"I am sorry, Phendrana."

The doppelganger blinked and glanced askance at his companion. "What reason do you have to be sorry?"

Lamorak sighed. "First, I have something of a confession to make. I wasn't going to divulge this much to you, but it was I who arranged to have that circlet sent to you."

Phendrana nodded numbly, unable to quite keep the surprise from his face. Hearing the admission aloud made him realize that subconsciously a small part of him had suspected as much from the beginning, but one thing didn't make sense. "Why would you do such a thing? This treasure is fit for a king, and you and I both know that I rank somewhere far below such a station."

Lamorak seemed to weigh his answer carefully for several moments before he responded, and even then his voice still maintained a note of uncertainty. "Fortune has not favored you since your transformation, though it is obvious that these circumstances are far beyond your control. I have watched you struggle with your plight for months now, and even despite your hardships you continue to prioritize the safety of the High Prince and his retainers uncomplainingly. I, for one, greatly admire your devotion and loyalty. Though the Most High has seen fit to bestow upon you titles and positions of power, I thought I would personally thank you for your efforts."

Phendrana lifted his wine glass to his lips and took a drawn-out sip to disguise his momentary speechlessness; when he lowered the glass there was a protest on his tongue already. "You have my gratitude, of course, but I – "

"Please," Lamorak interjected gently, halting their leisurely pace and holding up one hand to stay the rest of the doppelganger's objections. "I am well aware of your knack for selflessness – it is in your nature, I have found, to give all of yourself to a cause and take very little for your efforts in return – but I must insist that you accept this gift without complaint. You have given up so much to serve us, so much that I constantly find myself in awe of your integrity – few people would have approached an alliance with the Princes of Shade with such devotion. Not only that, but it grieves me to think of all that you have lost in the days since you became a shade… the trust of many fellow council members, a great deal of your mental fortitude, and the love of someone you cared deeply for. I know that material possessions cannot erase the hurts you have suffered at our hands, but I hope that when you wear that circlet you are at least reminded that you have my appreciation, and my support."

There was little Phendrana could say in reply, and for his part his protests were completely forgotten. Lamorak smiled back at him sheepishly and hitched his shoulders once as though mildly embarrassed by his speech, and reaching out he clapped Phendrana companionably upon the shoulder once. "I suppose I will not argue further," Phendrana conceded darkly, and Lamorak actually laughed. "It seems you will not hear a word I have to say to the contrary!"

Lamorak squared up to face him then, and said something the mindmaster knew he would never forget. "I believe your intentions to be pure, and I know that the course you now find yourself on is a righteous one. So long as I have the ability to aid you in your endeavors, rest assured that I will do so."

It was the kind of declaration that would have made Phendrana's eyes misty if such a thing were physically possible for him. "Would that I had something to offer you in return for your support."

"Your loyalty," Lamorak suggested gently, "and your friendship. That is all I ask."

Phendrana nodded once in acquiescence and took the step that would get them started again at their leisurely pace, but then his vision exploded into stars and an entirely different reality came to pass before his wide, unseeing eyes.

It was very, very dark; the only light he could make out came from a tall bronze candelabra lit with a dozen sputtering, dripping candles. The faint illumination cast a soft golden glow upon a crude, quickly constructed altar the likes of which he didn't recognize, and the effects that had been gathered were clearly meant to aid in some manner of ritual but he was incapable of naming each individual implement. On the altar was bound a shade that he couldn't immediately recognize, and standing above the prone shadow-swathed figure was a stocky female drow whose eyes burned crimson with livid flame; a scourge of writhing vipers was sheathed upon her hip, and in her hand she clutched a ceremonial dagger whose hilt was fashioned in the likeness of a black widow spider.

"At last," said the drow, her lips curling into a sadistic grin of victory, her fingers coiling and uncoiling maniacally around the hilt of the dagger. "You cannot comprehend how I have anticipated this moment… The moment when I will at last eliminate you as the Spider Queen has commanded me! The plague you have brought down upon our people will be no more, and you will burn in the eternal fires of the Nine Hells for all eternity! Look at me, you wretch! Gaze into my eyes as the life leaves your body!"

She plunged the dagger down into the shade's chest, laughing in exultation as the barbed legs of the dagger's hilt stretched and came alive; the arachnid's eight extremities dug into the shade's flesh, flinging wisps of shadow essence everywhere in their frenzy to feast on what dwelled beneath the skin, biting mercilessly again and again. And when at last it seemed the spider's legs had latched onto something the drow smiled with sadistic pleasure and tore the weapon free of the shade's chest, and Phendrana glimpsed something he had never seen before. It appeared to be a mass of concentrated shadowstuff, but animated, alive; it was thousands of strands of purest shadow writhing helplessly within the cruel barbs of the dagger, pulsing as though possessed of a life all its own, and as the shade's amber eyes gazed lifelessly at the sky Phendrana came to understand what he was seeing.

A shadow orb.

He sucked in a breath so suddenly and violently that his lungs ached, and that sensation alone was enough to drag him back to the present moment. He was no longer surrounded by masquerade attendees but standing in the shadow of a wide pillar at the far edge of the room, completely out of sight; Lamorak was standing over him, one hand clutching his shoulder and an expression of deep concern chiseled into his features.

"What did you see?" Lamorak demanded in a hoarse voice, and Phendrana struggled to stand up straight.

"We were wrong," he gasped out, replaying the gruesome image over and over in his mind as though terrified to forget even the most insignificant detail. "All this time we were convinced they were allies but he is as much a target as the rest of us. We've been wrong all along."

"I don't – " Lamorak started to protest, but Phendrana overrode him.

"The drow really _are_ coming after Lim Tal'eyve – the Spider Queen herself has commanded it!"

* * *

Soleil and Escanor had just made their grand entrance to a round of uproarious applause, the First Prince regal and magnificent in his black glass armor and his bride-to-be radiant in a stunning orange gown that brought to mind the blaze of a setting sun; Aglarel was standing near the arranged line of thrones and sharing a quiet word with Dethud when the herald's staff clacked upon the marble and demanded Aglarel's attention. "Lady Aveil Arthien, Sceptrana of Thultanthar." Seemingly of its own volition his head swiveled in the direction of the stairs and he laid eyes upon her, momentarily stunned into silence at the sight of her descending into their midst.

The evening gown she had chosen was that majestic violet that matched her soul-searching eyes, and just the sight of that color transported him back to the days when he could have counted on her to have a snide remark on the tip of her tongue for every word he said that she didn't like, or a sour expression that suggested she thought she was too good for any of them, or an innuendo for no reason at all but to get men's hearts racing. His eyes leisurely wandered the length of her gown, taking in the provocative slit up one shapely thigh and the bejeweled bodice with its single thin shoulder strap and its rakish, suggestive angle; when she moved even an inch the light refracted off each individual stone in her dress, throwing indigo sparkles in all directions. She wore a half-moon mask that covered the left half of her face in silver porcelain and purple sequins and glitter, and there were crystals pinned in her hair.

"By the grace of Shar," Dethud murmured beneath his breath, tracking Aveil's progress down the stairs a little too closely with his own eyes. "There is no denying that she is a vision… It is no wonder that her past is littered with the bodies of ill-fated suitors."

Aglarel was hardly paying attention; truth be told his eyes were focused over Dethud's shoulder on a point about fifty feet away, where High Prince Telamont was engaged in amicable conversation with his eldest son and soon-to-be daughter. Telamont was quick to return his gaze and the Fourth Prince held perfectly still as his sovereign searched his soul with those ethereal platinum eyes, his expression blank and unreadable, his thoughts carefully withheld. For his part Aglarel couldn't imagine what his face might have looked like, but wondered if it held even a hint of the predatory possessiveness he felt. After a moment that seemed to last an eternity, the High Prince offered him the smallest of imperceptible nods.

That was all it took for Aglarel to excuse himself from Dethud's company and cut a swath through the throng of masked nobles, hardly slowing as they scuttled to vacate his path and responding not at all to their hurried murmurs of apology. There was something undefinable in him that desired to be the first person she laid eyes on the moment her feet reached the bottom of the stairs. So purposeful was his stride that he reached the staircase before she had even completed her descent.

Aveil stood poised a few stairs from the bottom with her right hand resting upon the winding guardrail, her mouth slightly agape and her eyes a fraction wider than usual as she surveyed him. The attire he had chosen was darkest red trimmed in his characteristic somber black, slacks and long-sleeved button-down whose cuffs he had rolled up to his elbows and high, supple black boots that were but a whisper upon the wooden floor of the ballroom. The black cape he wore was hooded but it rested upon his shoulders comfortably, allowing for the wear of both his simple crimson domino mask and the jagged platinum crown he wore; the crown was of unusual make, its points bringing to mind the unbroken line of a mountain pass, its peaks tipped with trilliant-cut rubies that were just a shade lighter than jet. Truth be told he hated wearing such formal attire and any token that belied his elevated station, but he loved the Most High and wanted to see him appeased in all things.

They continued to stare at one another, silently appraising, until at last Aglarel lifted one hand palm-up and held it perfectly still not six inches from where Aveil's hand was still poised upon the bannister. Her eyes flitted to his hand momentarily but did not linger in moving back to his eyes; the suspicion in her face was easy to read. "Do you dance?" she asked, seeming bemused by the prospect, but Aglarel didn't laugh and his eyes hadn't strayed from her face.

"I am a Prince of Shade," he answered simply, as though that should settle the matter.

She weighed his answer silently for a moment, brooding over all that that might mean, and for his part Aglarel was patient as she sifted through her thoughts – she was a mortal, after all, and far more prone to indecision than he. After a moment's hesitation she lifted her hand and placed it in his own, and Aglarel guided her the rest of the way down the gently-curving staircase. Crowds parted to allow them passage, murmuring words of greeting and flattery; Aveil beamed back at them and offered a polite curtsy of her own though she hardly slowed as she kept pace with Aglarel. Privately, Aglarel admired her - often he forgot that she had been born into royalty herself, but in circumstances such as these one couldn't hope but wonder. There was something innately noble in the shape of her face, something refined in even the most insignificant movements she made, that served as a sound reminder.

"You came alone," Aveil remarked as they drew nearer to the ballroom floor.

"And you did the same," Aglarel pointed out.

Aveil lifted her chin a fraction, her expression proud; the crystals in her hair caught the light of a floating lantern overhead, transforming the gems momentarily into pale amethysts. "No one requested the pleasure of my company, but surely the same cannot be said of you."

Aglarel shrugged, the motion sending a ripple through his fine black cape. "No one I cared to be seen with inquired after my company, and so here I am." They had reached the edge of the ballroom floor; Lim, Hadrhune, and Rapha, grouped together on his extreme right side and partially concealed by the buzzing crowd, were all watching them with open curiosity and blatant loathing. Aveil seemed not to notice them, and Aglarel steadfastly ignored them. "Do _you_ dance, Aveil?"

She considered that for a moment before laughing openly. "If memory serves, the last time I engaged in any such activity was many years ago. I attended the wedding of Prince Juraviel Valiente of E'lastamor, whose younger sister Ria was once one of my traveling companions and a dear friend. I suspect you have had reason to dance far more recently than I."

"Oddly I think you may be right," observed Aglarel, and with a deft turn of his wrist he maneuvered Aveil around until they stood facing one another; his free hand pressed against the small of her back with exacting pressure and drew her nearer, and Aveil allowed her other hand to rest gently upon his chest. To her credit, her fingertips did not tremble when she touched him; Aglarel couldn't help feeling surprised and more than a little pleased, for most mortals could hardly stand to be in such close proximity to him. "Shall we?"

Aveil nodded once, and they set off in time to the soft chaconne of the string quintet.

The grace with which Aglarel moved was surprising, but Aveil recalled his natural aptitude for stealth and thought she could see just how dancing came so naturally to him. Such was his strength that it seemed her feet hardly touched the floor, though somehow Aveil trusted him not to lead her astray and her faith was rewarded as they made their way across the ballroom. For a long time they did not speak, content merely to stare into one another's eyes, and time passed without meaning in the absence of the beat of Aglarel's heart beneath Aveil's hand to mark the seconds.

When Aglarel at last spoke his voice was low but intense. "Have you readied yourself to fight this drow conjurer?"

Aveil nodded solemnly. "She will not best me, on my honor as Sceptrana of Thultanthar."

Aglarel smirked, pleased with her response. "If your rout of Zek Vandree may serve as any indication, I have no doubt that your claims will prove true." They turned a graceful ninety degrees, his cape rippling about them and the hem of the Sceptrana's dress trailing around her ankles; Aglarel's eyes strayed from hers for a moment before snapping back upon her face as he chuckled beneath his breath. "It seems we have earned ourselves a rather hostile audience."

Tossing her hair over her shoulder Aveil allowed her eyes to cut through the crowd to the point over her right shoulder that the prince had indicated, quickly taking note of the audience of which he had spoken; Lim, Hadrhune, and Rapha were grouped just outside the perimeter of the ballroom floor, watching them dance and wearing expressions ranging from curiosity to disgust to blatant hatred. Though she knew it would be in poor taste to do so, Aveil couldn't help rolling her eyes in their direction before turning back to face the Fourth Prince. "I can only speculate as to the conclusions they've drawn."

Much to her surprise, Aglarel's first reply came in the form of a heavy sigh; when he spoke his voice was tired, far more so than she thought she'd ever heard it. "I grow weary of guessing at the intentions of everyone around me. I am less than fond of such games. I have half a mind to confront them all and end these pointless charades."

Aveil's eyes were searching, speculative. "I understand your frustrations for they are often my own, however I feel I must caution you against such confrontations. The success of many of our pursuits relies upon our ability to keep our true feelings to ourselves – if they become known, our positions on many matters run the risk of being made public. Are you prepared to answer to the High Prince if the knowledge that we are secretly working against Lim reaches his ears? Will you declare Lim your adversary openly, knowing that in doing so you must also stand against all those who now name themselves his supporters?"

"Has our aim not been to protect the Most High all along, no matter the cost?" Aglarel questioned back, his voice pitched lower now in an effort to keep their conversation private despite their very public surroundings. "Surely we must not also extend the hand of false friendship to those who are in a position to do him the most harm?"

"There is a difference between being in a position to cause harm," Aveil reminded, "and actually causing any harm." Seeing that she was about to lose Aglarel to his mounting frustrations she squeezed his hand tightly, the only physical gesture of reassurance she could offer him without drawing any attention; already there were far too many eyes marking their every step than she would prefer, wondering, she supposed, at their camaraderie – if you could even call it that. Fortunately Aglarel's eyes returned to hers and seemed a little less hostile than before, and she dared to continue. "Don't misunderstand me – the idea of befriending Lim is as loathsome to me as it is to you, perhaps even more so, but we will gain nothing in confronting him now. We are no closer to proving his involvement in these attacks than we were when they first began – we have our suspicions, of course, but we have no _proof_. Until we have that, what can we do but keep our silence and prepare ourselves for any scenario?"

For a moment that Aveil wasn't quite certain she hadn't imagined, all of Aglarel's characteristic cool composure slipped and the helplessness in his face was apparent; for Aveil, this expression was somehow far more terrifying than being in the presence of his rage. "I cannot make you understand," he began, his voice reflecting but a fraction of the self-torment he must have been subjecting himself to. "The idea that through my own actions I might one day land myself at odds with my sovereign… I cannot bear the thought. He is everything to me… He is the very epicenter of my world… Without him, I would be nothing. He has given me all that I have and all that I am and _this_ is how I repay him?"

It wasn't the first time Aveil had felt so convinced that there was far more to Aglarel in comparison to his brethren, but she knew that now would be a poor time to address her own selfish curiosity. Instead she said, "You are repaying him with your diligence and devotion. It is a fine line we walk between duty and insurrection, but you mustn't lose sight of why we are doing this – remember that the repercussions will be far direr in the event that our suspicions one day prove right but we did nothing to act on them. Had I thought you were opposing the High Prince's wishes maliciously I might have protested your intentions, but I know the truth of your actions. I know that all you do is for the good of this realm."

There was one thing still that didn't make sense to Aglarel, one thing that hadn't made sense from the very beginning; he drew her even closer, marveling at just how slight she felt in his arms, and growled, "Why do you risk everything you have gained simply to satisfy my agenda? We may be in agreement on these matters, but that is still no reason for you to open yourself up for future scrutiny. You are not of Thultanthar, and furthermore you have transgressed in the past - the consequences will be far more severe for you if things go ill for us."

Aveil snorted as though hardly intimidated by anything he had said, and instead answered his question with an inquiry of her own. "Why did you stake your reputation on my advancement? Were you not in a similar situation – little to gain and everything to lose?"

"I knew that after all you had been through you would be of great use to the enclave if you could only rein in your pride," Aglarel reminded her disdainfully. "Perhaps it seemed that the risk for me was high, but you could also say that I knew how these events would play out even before they had."

"Precisely why I feel the need to take such a risk for you in return," Aveil explained patiently. "I know in my heart that we are right – and even if by some fell design we are not, I owe it to you to support you. As I told you once before, were it not for you sometimes praising me I would most likely still be a prisoner at the mercy of the High Prince, with no status and little fortune to my name. I owe _you_ all that I have, and all that I am, don't you see?"

Aglarel hadn't the first idea how to respond to such a heartfelt statement, but it was just as well; in the next moment Lamorak had appeared at his elbow, the portion of his face that was unmasked looking unmistakably grave. "Brother, Sceptrana, I fear I must disturb you – Phendrana has had another vision."

"Of course he has," snapped Aglarel tersely, rolling his eyes, but Lamorak ignored him.

"It's a little more complicated than that… This most recent vision absolves Lim Tal'eyve of all doubt." At Lamorak's words Aglarel and Aveil sprang apart, eyes wide and disbelieving, and the Determinist Prime heaved a sigh before finishing, "He is the next target. There is a drow priestess coming here who means to rend his shadow orb and sacrifice him to the Spider Queen."

Aveil stared up at the Fourth Prince evenly, watching as realization dawned and transformed his expression into something sour, and knew that on this issue they would never see eye to eye. Though it pained her to place herself at odds with him, she knew what needed to be done. "Prince, we must warn him. If this priestess catches him at unawares – "

"Let her," Aglarel spat, his voice saturated with poison. "She will be doing us a grand favor by eliminating him – it will erase any suspicion that may already be surrounding us."

"And his deal with the High Prince?!" Aveil reminded him hotly, stamping her foot so that her heel sounded a jarring _clack_ upon the wooden floor, her hair quivering in loosely-curled ringlets around her flushed face. "How do you expect he might make good on his end of the bargain if we allow him to die now?! Do you think the Most High will be pleased when he finds out that he voluntarily gifted the power of the shadow to a _drow_ when his motivation for doing so becomes null and void?!"

"The High Prince entered into this ridiculous agreement fully expecting the drow to fail!" Aglarel reminded her in a dangerously low voice that suggested he was struggling reining in his own mounting anger. "The loss will be a minor inconvenience at worst!"

Aveil sucked in a breath and stood her ground, delivering what she knew would be the winning blow in their argument. "Are you prepared to shoulder the blame, then? Will you risk your reputation, your credibility, the High Prince's centuries-long trust in you, all because your misplaced prejudice kept you from making the right decision?"

Aglarel's eyes narrowed dangerously and his arm flashed, impossibly fast, but before the blow could land Lamorak reached out and seized his brother by the wrist to stay his hand. Aveil stood between them, alternating looks of gratitude for Lamorak and betrayal for Aglarel; the Determinist Prime stepped forward, his face mere inches from his brother's, his voice dripping with disappointment. "How dare you," he growled. "How dare you even attempt to strike this mortal, who not only has our sovereign's favor but has devoted herself completely to your endeavors. I am ashamed of you. This is not how we treat those whom we call friends." With that Lamorak released him, and Aglarel snatched his hand back with a wounded expression; Lamorak studiously ignored him and glanced down at Aveil with a kinder expression. "Sceptrana, allow me to apologize on behalf of my brother. He does not always think and is prone to acting entirely out of anger."

By then Aveil had composed herself, and did not even comment on Aglarel's violent outburst. "Take me to Phendrana," she requested. "I will go with him to share what he has seen with Lim. I will work to preserve all of the High Prince's advisors, no matter my personal feelings toward them."

"Your aid is greatly appreciated," Lamorak told her with a polite little bow and a smile, and offering her his arm he began to lead her away –

Aglarel caught her by the upper arm and turned her back to face him, his eyes scorching her skin with silver flame; his expression was impossible to read. "My brother speaks the truth," he told her haltingly, his face contorting in strange way as he spoke the words. "Sometimes… I do and say things I do not mean."

It was a trait she had seen in action dozens of times before and so she didn't doubt the sincerity of his claim, but that didn't stay her retort. "You are blinded by hatred and prejudice, but I do not blame you for that – no one can understand your loathing for Lim Tal'eyve better than I! But until he has proven himself to be our foe we _must_ protect him, just as we are bound to protect all of the High Prince's subjects. I pray you remember that before long, for the Fourth Prince that I know is more benevolent than any other despite his near-constant attempts to hide as much." Then she gently removed her arm from his slackened grip and hurried with Prince Lamorak across the ballroom.

They moved quietly together for a moment, weaving between elegantly-dressed party guests, until in a voice barely more than a whisper Lamorak said, "I find you much changed, Sceptrana."

Aveil sighed - a little tiredly and impatiently, it seemed - as her eyes scanned the crowd. "I hear that often enough, though for the life of me I cannot see what has so drastically changed. I simply grew bored of opposing every authority figure I came into contact with – conflict breeds eternal misery, as they say."

The corners of Lamorak's mouth twitched with amusement. "It does when those you oppose are the Princes of Shade, that much is true. All joking aside, you really have become a credit to the Most High in every way – Aglarel may be incapable of seeing the logic in your choice to aid Lim now, but he will in time."

"I have my doubts – he is a stubborn and strong-willed man." They were standing in the shadow of a great marble pillar now, sheltered from the alluring faerie lights by its girth; Phendrana stood with his back to them and his hands moving quickly as he spoke in a low, animated voice, addressing two shades so identical in physical appearance that Aveil couldn't immediately determine which was Lim and which was Hadrhune. Only the sight of the familiar darkstaff clutched in Hadrhune's right hand, the shadow sorcerer's weapon of choice for centuries, gave away his identity. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Conversation ended abruptly as Phendrana turned to face them, his expression alive with the depths of his gratitude; Hadrhune cut his eyes to where Aveil stood, still companionably arm-in-arm with Third Prince Lamorak, and surveyed her with great disdain. "I serve Lim Tal'eyve at the High Prince's request, you will recall," he reminded her loftily, his voice little more than a sneer. "You find yourself in a similar situation, from what I can tell?"

Aveil opened her mouth to protest hotly, but Lim placed himself between them and overrode her. "While I do find the scorned lover look to be a most flattering color on you," he drawled sarcastically to Hadrhune, "I feel I must remind you that our goals currently align. Starting a fruitless argument with a potential ally seems foolish, wouldn't you agree?"

Hadrhune instantly bristled. "I do not take orders from you."

Lim offered him a casual wink in reply before saying, "But you know I am right in this instance." He turned back to Aveil while Hadrhune seethed at his side, his eyes flitting momentarily over Lamorak and their still-entwined arms before adding, "It is reassuring to see that some things never change… I must admit that I much prefer your current companion to your previous one. Had a falling out, did you?"

"If you must know we had a difference of opinion where helping you was concerned," Aveil told him bluntly, though she did slip her arm out of the crook of Lamorak's elbow and set her hand on her hip almost defiantly. "He feels rather averse to helping you, for reasons I'm sure aren't unknown to you."

"Then why have you come?" Lim inquired, tilting his head minutely to one side, obviously intrigued. "Are you not… how to put this delicately… of the same mind?"

Aveil sighed yet again as though the answer should be obvious. "I am not Aglarel. I do not have the liberty of defying those whom the High Prince loves on a whim or at my leisure. I am bound to serve those whom he trusts, regardless of my personal feelings toward them."

Lim blinked, taken aback by her answer, and said, "You _have_ changed. I heard rumors, but you know how these matters can become exaggerated in the retelling! I cannot say that I prefer you this way, considering how… _vivacious_ … you were before."

Something resurfaced in Phendrana's memory then, a brief glimpse he had taken of Aglarel and Aveil dancing with almost ethereal grace in the sparse moments before he had plucked up the courage to approach Lim and Hadrhune, that prompted him to say, "I cannot say that I knew you well before, Aveil, but I do not think you are so different as all that." The Sceptrana's answering smile was dazzling; it gave Phendrana the motivation to lead them back to the issue at hand. "We were discussing my vision, and planning for all contingencies. I am glad that you have both joined us – the lack of telling details is making me feel blind and unprepared, and the extra help will be invaluable."

Lim's eyes were on Aveil again, all business now. "Phendrana also tells me that our princess-to-be has been named a target as well. Has she been told of the impending danger?"

Aveil cut her eyes to Phendrana, who had preemptively dropped his gaze to the ground to avoid her searching glare. It was apparent in his guilt-ridden face that he had not completed what he had set out to do. "It would appear that Soleil yet remains unaware of these matters."

"What good can come of telling her now?" Lamorak put in. "The wedding is mere days away – can we not resolve this without causing her further stress? Likely she has quite enough on her plate as it is."

"I was of a similar opinion before," Aveil agreed, and Lim and Hadrhune nodded along in wordless assent as Phendrana's shoulders slumped in defeat. "We five should take these matters into our own hands, and involve no one else if we can avoid it. This occasion is something the Most High has long awaited in great earnest – if we are capable of dealing with further assassins from Menzoberranzan, we should do so without alerting him."

"Then we are all agreed that we must be on high alert on the day of the ceremony," Hadrhune summarized for them, his thumbnail working at the deep groove he had habitually worn near the head of his darkstaff as presumably some further matter vexed him. "But that does not tell us when the priestess will come to sacrifice Lim, or where." He turned back to Phendrana, who was now massaging his temples in a vain attempt to stimulate his memory. "Tell us again what you saw. There may remain some clue we have overlooked, something vital that may work in our favor."

"I have told you all that there is to know, for there was little to see," Phendrana insisted in a pinched, harassed tone. "Candles. A makeshift altar. Sacrificial elements. The dagger the priestess wielded had a hilt shaped in the likeness of a black widow spider – it came alive when it pierced Lim's flesh, clawing his chest open and tearing the shadow orb from his body. I have never seen such a weapon."

Lim was rolling his eyes in obvious disgust, his amber eyes momentarily lost within the bottle-green hue of the eyeholes of his mask. "I have. They are standard fare for priestesses ordained by Lolth and a symbol of a female drow's rank in society. The goddess herself is said to bless such blades, and they are commonly used in sacrificial rituals that the Spider Queen considers to be of great importance. It is said that if the heart that beats within the victim's breast holds any ill will against Lolth, the hilt will come alive and devour the organ that sustains him."

It was further proof that Lim had never really been their enemy, and it made Aveil wish fervently that it was Aglarel at her side and not Lamorak and Phendrana; nevertheless she nodded her understanding, her face a mask of almost glacial calm. "At this point I cannot say if it would be better for you to be at odds with Lolth or not."

"I can." Lim tossed her another one of his easy winks, this one accompanied by a devious smile. "The Spider Queen will wish she hadn't forsaken me when that which I have waited for finds it way into my possession."

Hadrhune was scowling. "This again? The High Prince does not take kindly to secrets."

The drow-shade held up his hands palms-forward as if in reminder of his total innocence. "Can it be called a secret if the particulars are unknown even to me?"

Lamorak was alternating glances between Hadrhune and Lim with raised eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"He says that the means to eradicate Lolth is coming to him, though he will not say what it is or who is bringing it," Hadrhune confided, making it plain in the tone of his voice that he had long since grown tired of the drow's fondness and fascination of pointless riddles. "I have badgered him ceaselessly to divulge the rest of his plans, but as you can see I have had little success."

"I have told you all that I know," Lim insisted in a growl, and as the nigh-identical pair of shades glared daggers at one another Phendrana dropped his hands from his temples and blew a frustrated sigh.

"We haven't the time to argue amongst ourselves!" the doppelganger reminded them in a harsh whisper, for their voices had escalated in volume and with every passing moment they ran the risk of drawing unwanted attention to themselves. "Need I remind you that the conjurer who means to put an end to Aveil will appear within our midst this very night?! We have hardly begun to prepare for her arrival, much less the coming of these two others!"

Lamorak nodded, looking suddenly introspective, but Phendrana's words served to bring Lim and Hadrhune up short; the drow stared back at Phendrana wordlessly, his mouth slightly agape and his eyes brimming with surprise, and it was such a rare occasion to see Lim at a loss for words that Phendrana momentarily lost his train of thought. Hadrhune was staring steadily at Aveil, his face carefully composed but his eyes betraying his inner turmoil. Aveil met both of their stares with her head held high and not a trace of fear to be found in her expression.

At last, Lim remembered how to speak – Phendrana was the recipient of his ire. "I deliberately asked you last night if you had seen anything else, and you _lied_ to me?!"

"Of course I lied to you," Phendrana shot back icily. "But then again, you weren't entirely truthful with me either, were you?"

"On which issue?!" the drow thundered, shaking off the restraining hand that Hadrhune laid across his arm, and Phendrana hit him with a devious grin of his own.

"Did you really expect me to believe that you were not at all acquainted with Zek Vandree?" Phendrana pointed out, laughing now, and Lim's scowl deepened. "When I met with Prince Aglarel this morning and he told me of the drow's death I knew for certain you had killed him. But why? What information was he privy to that you couldn't risk him sharing? And what did you hope to gain in implicating _me_ in his murder?"

Lim offered a shrug in response. "In truth? Absolutely nothing – and I was nothing but truthful with you when I told you I didn't know him. I visited him hoping he had come to deliver me that which I have been eagerly awaiting, but he knew nothing of it – when it became apparent that he would be of no use to me I disposed of him. His usefulness to Prince Aglarel, and to the Most High, had already ended. I assumed no one would take issue if his life ended also. As for what I hoped to gain in framing you… well, there was nothing in it for me, honestly, I did it for sport." He tossed the doppelganger a wink, finishing, "No hard feelings."

Aveil's hands were clenched into white fists at her sides, her delicate curls trembling as she shook with barely contained rage. "You put to death a prisoner of the High Prince _without permission_?! Have you lost your senses?!"

"The decision to determine who should live and who should die does not rest with you," Lamorak informed the drow-shade with a grave, almost vengeful look in his eye. "Perhaps you are right in thinking that Zek Vandree's usefulness had ended, but that does not give you the authority to eliminate him. Your presumptions will place you at odds with our sovereign if you are not more careful in the future."

"Can we not return to the real crux of the matter?" Lim reminded them with an exaggerated sigh. "We do not have the time to be squabbling amongst ourselves, especially not with emissaries of the Spider Queen drawing ever closer to our doorstep. We must band together and act, or we flirt with the certain elimination of any number of the High Prince's Court." His eyes slid over Aveil then, who was standing facing him with her hands placed haughtily upon her hips, and added, "Unless of course Prince Aglarel is prepared to act against us all in response to your noncompliance with him, in which case I do believe we have another problem entirely."

More than one set of eyes flitted in Aveil's direction looking panic-stricken, but the Sceptrana was shaking her head even before the words had left Lim's mouth. "Perhaps he does not trust in you and your agenda – and I must say that he is not the only one – but he does trust in me and my judgment. He will not move against us unless we commit some act that is counter to the High Prince's mandate, and the safeguarding of the Court can hardly be considered as such."

"Though it seems that aiding me in any way could be viewed otherwise," Lim put in disdainfully, and though Lamorak and Phendrana both bristled it was Hadrhune who intervened in response, stepping up to the drow's side and rapping him none-too-gently on the back of the head with the head of his darkstaff.

"Spare us your standoffishness," the seneschal reprimanded as Lim rubbed the back of his head gingerly. "Were you not just preaching the importance of us banding together? The situation may be less than ideal, but our ultimate goal is the same – we must preserve those closest to the crown and do all that we can to keep these infiltrators from accomplishing their ends." He locked eyes with Aveil when he finished, "That means we should start with you, if it is true what the doppelganger says and one of these killers is coming for you tonight."

Aveil was shaking her head. "No – Soleil is soon to wed the High Prince's eldest son. Her protection should be our first priority."

Lamorak's eyes, fixed upon some point beyond the protective cover of the pillar behind which they stood clustered together debating, suddenly widened with horror as he said, "Unfortunately it seems as though we have run out of time to debate this."

Phendrana and Hadrhune, standing at opposite ends of the pillar, peeked around the polished marble surface and instantly identified Lamorak's cause for concern.

In the center of the great ballroom, already shimmering with a radiance brighter than the many whimsical lanterns magically suspended overhead, was a bead of light that shone with a golden glow; watching it, Phendrana supposed that if he held it in the palm of his hand it would be no larger than a marble, yet it seemed to be growing steadily larger all the while. As it expanded the temperature within the hall began to rise, warming all that it touched with its life-giving rays, and though Phendrana had once looked to that gleaming orb with fondness it now felt very wrong to look upon it for longer than even a handful of seconds. Brighter and brighter, hotter and hotter, until even squinting he could scarcely abide to look upon the swelling likeness of the sun and the veil of shadows that clung to his body had dissipated into barely-visible wisps of gray vapor –

\- And then the conjured orb of sunlight burst, filling the entire chamber with its deadly golden rays, and in the instant before he went blind Phendrana thought he witnessed the moment when his eyelids were burned from his face.


	11. Lost in the Fire

As the burning orb of conjured sunlight was swelling, incinerating the lovely floating lanterns with its white-hot flames, Fourth Prince Aglarel was running. Despite the very palpable sense of impending doom he felt permeating the air no one seemed possessed of the desire to flee for their lives; they all stood witness to the horror, their faces upturned to the ceiling, their twisted expressions of terror clearly illuminated in the harsh golden glow emanating from the orb. He shoved his way through the crowds, oblivious to those who lost their balance and even fell as he passed – he hadn't the time for sycophantic lesser nobles with his veil of shadows unraveling around his body at an alarming rate. Anyone who looked too closely would easily notice that the sunlight wasn't burning his flesh away and he just couldn't risk the inevitable scrutiny that would follow.

His ears were filled with the agonized screams of shades who were writhing in the golden rays, their strangely skeletal bodies helplessly exposed, and out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw his brother Dethud clutching his own face with malnourished-looking claws as his eyes simply melted out of their sockets; he caught a glimpse of Soleil, one arm thrown up to shield her eyes and the other hand tight upon Escanor's wrist, and as he barreled past she cast him an apologetic glance. In that moment, Aglarel couldn't fault her for wanting to retreat.

"Take him and go!" he barked at her, for he remembered well enough that Soleil herself was a target of the drow and he wasn't about to take any more chances. The mountebank nodded gravely once and the pair of them vanished as she invoked the powers of her ring, and then he leapt.

Aglarel plowed into his sovereign in the instant before the conjured orb of sunlight burst, his nails scrabbling for purchase in the High Prince's magnificent robes as he dragged him to the ground; to his credit Telamont didn't fight him, though Aglarel reasoned his sovereign may have been anticipating his favored fourth son to intervene in such a way. They were tangled on the ground for an instant in which Aglarel was struck momentarily stunned by just how frail the High Prince seemed crushed beneath him and then the brilliant golden globe burst, its rays lancing through the ballroom like bolts of lightning, its brilliance manifesting into streams of molten gold that burned hotter than any flame. Aglarel sought the Shadow Plane with all haste, dragging the High Prince's seizing body along with him, but not before a great gout of lava-hot sunshine lashed across his back and scorched through his clothing and all the way to his bones. The Fourth Prince gritted his teeth and growled the pain away, darkly determined not to lose his focus, for those who underestimated the vast expanse of shadows that comprised that dimension had been known to wander lost there and he would be damned if he allowed that to happen now. He navigated that plane as quickly as his searing wound and his twitching, unresponsive patron would allow, hoping against hope that they would not be set upon by any of the ravenous shadow creatures that dwelt in the vast darkness, and felt distinctly relieved when they tumbled back into the Material Plane and collapsed in a heap upon the cool, smooth black marble floor of the High Prince's audience hall.

With a certain amount of effort Aglarel managed to roll away, soothing the livid burn against the cool tiles as his body's accelerated rate of physical regeneration replaced the scorched flesh with healthy, unmarred skin; sunlight couldn't kill him, that much was true, but no mortal creature could say he was altogether fond of the blistering, viscous liquid that was a result of a masterfully casted daylight spell. Thankfully the pain resided quickly, and the moment it had Aglarel lurched up onto his knees and crouched over the motionless body of his father. The High Prince hadn't sustained any burns from the spell's explosion – doubtless as a result of Aglarel's quick and selfless intervention – but the harsh illumination had burned through the protective veil of shadows that clung to any shade's body and left the High Prince helpless beneath the sun's rays. Aglarel looked on, numb with horror, as first a minute passed and then two and the shadows still did not regenerate.

"Holy Father," he choked out, his hands clutching the High Prince's shoulders, but the body beneath his trembling hands was still.

Silently Aglarel swore to himself that if the Most High did not wake he would march into the Underdark himself and slaughter every last drow he could get his hands on.

* * *

It was only by virtue of the fact that the pillar partially concealed them that they weren't killed in the initial blast.

As Phendrana was reeling backward blindly his arms windmilled for something, anything that might break his fall; his right hand clipped someone else's shoulder and he grasped it desperately, using that physical contact to root his chaotic mind back into the present situation and perhaps make sense of what was happening. He reached out his mental influence and was so relieved to find that Third Prince Lamorak was alive beside him that the sensation was almost crippling; as it was he stumbled two steps backward, recovered his balance, and hauled the prince alongside him as his other flailing arm sought the surface of the marble pillar he knew to be nearby. After three blind grabs he at last slapped his palm flat against it and dragged Lamorak with all his might beside him, his chest heaving with exertion as he crouched within the blessed deep shadows cast by the pillar that the daylight spell could not touch.

Remembering his companions he glanced up, squinting through half-formed eyes and struggling to discern something of meaning from the formless, colorless shapes surrounding him. There was a soft exhale from somewhere above and to his right in the place where he recalled the other three to be standing, a breath of surprise or pain or helplessness, and his vision cleared just in time for him to watch the smoldering body of one of his comrades collapse lifelessly to the ground. Unthinkingly Phendrana recoiled from the stench of reeking, charred flesh that curled into his nostrils but he forced his discomfort away, reaching out his free hand and dragging the smoking body into the shadows on his other side.

It was fortunate that they had Aveil with them, for not only did the sunlight have no effect on her but she was in her element; stretching out her right hand she summoned her badge of office, the dread scepter called Stygian Invidia, and holding it aloft she conjured a thick cloud of shadows that encircled both her and the single shade convulsing at her side. This timely act might have saved the shade's life, for he stood at least three feet from the darkness of the pillar and had taken the full brunt of the daylight spell; as it was Aveil reached out to steady him, and after a few heartbeats he was strong enough to stand without her aid.

"The other princes!" she howled, her voice high-pitched and desperate, and with a nod of grim determination the shade at her side thrust out one hand and conjured a globe of impenetrable darkness around a small cluster of shrieking, thrashing shades grouped near the high table. Phendrana knew little of the Underdark races – all the knowledge he possessed he had once gleaned from Alax and Zerena, in a simpler and happier time when he could still feel their comforting presences lingering within his subconscious mind – but he did know that all drow possessed the innate ability to create spheres of magical darkness; glancing down with newfound horror he recognized the twisted and scorched body of the seneschal Hadrhune and wondered if he was doomed to be the first casualty in their silent and brutal war with the emissaries of Lolth. He looked to his other side, suddenly very afraid of what he might find, and felt an abrupt wash of relief when Lamorak tiredly met his eyes.

There was movement in the thick cloud of darkness that Aveil had conjured, and when she and Lim had joined them in the relative protection of the shade cast by the wide pillar she dispelled it; Lim was clutching at his chest and gasping for breath, his once fine clothes hanging in singed tatters around his seemingly-frail body, but it was evident at first glance that he was much better off than before. Aveil's eyes fell upon Phendrana, who aside from feeling violently nauseous perceived that the worst of the danger had passed for the moment. "Can you detect them? Are they alive in there?"

Phendrana thrust his wellspring of telekinetic energy away from him and allowed his mental facilities to wander the expanse of the room, gravitating naturally toward the deep darkness that was Lim Tal'eyve's conjured orb of shadows. He could sense vague, disjointed thought patterns in several familiar voices emanating from within the orb's darkness, but there were notable absences that seized his shadow orb in a vicelike grip of pure terror.

"There are several whom I cannot detect," he told them gravely, his voice possessed of a note of weakness that had nothing at all to do with physical frailty. "Whether they have perished or fled I cannot say."

"Who?" Aveil demanded. "The High Prince?"

The mindmaster struggled with the frayed edges of his consciousness, feeling his mental facilities wane and unravel even as he fought to maintain them, but could sense nothing else in his weakened state. Slumping back against the pillar he murmured, "I'm sorry… I can tell you no more."

Lim was crouched at Hadrhune's side, one hand planted firmly in the center of the seneschal's chest and the other hovering just millimeters above his nose and slightly-gaping mouth; the shadows that typically engulfed his body had yet to return, and in their absence Phendrana would easily have mistaken him for a drow still. After a moment's contemplation Lim sat back on his heels and ran one hand down his face, harassed, before glancing up at Aveil. "I cannot feel him breathing, and I cannot sense any life within his shadow orb. I fear he is lost to us already."

"Give me a moment," Phendrana begged them, stubbornly fighting against the onset of fatigue. "I will study his mind for signs of activity and see what I might learn."

"We must reach the other princes," Lamorak insisted, sitting up a little straighter, his breath coming in soft, shallow gasps. "The globe of darkness will sustain them, but for how long? If this is a drow we are dealing with – and I have no doubts that it is – the globe will be dispelled before long. We must secure them and transfer them to another location – they are not safe here."

Lim gestured angrily at Hadrhune, waved his arm wildly to indicate himself, Phendrana, and Lamorak, and shot back, " _We_ are not safe here!"

"We are armed with Phendrana's prophecies, and that is more than my brothers have," the Third Prince reminded them, and Lim's shoulders slumped a little as he begrudgingly conceded the point. "We must act, because no one else will."

Aveil was pressed flat against the pillar and peeking cautiously around its rounded surface, sizing up her next move; presently she came to a decision, and glanced hastily back toward them. "I will go to them," she volunteered, "for I am the only one who can brave the sunlight and I will not place any of you in further danger. Phendrana, do what you can for Hadrhune. Prince Lamorak, Lim, steel yourselves for the battle ahead – we have no way of divining just what we are facing."

"Is it wise for you to go alone?" Phendrana protested bleakly, hardly expecting his words to stop her and doubtful that he could physically restrain her if the need arose. "The drow is here for you, Aveil. I have seen as much – don't play into her hands!"

"I hardly have a choice." The Sceptrana barked out one harsh, helpless laugh that served to remind them all just how dire their situation was, and when her attempt at mirth died away she forced a rueful smile onto her lips; in that moment, Phendrana couldn't help but admire her bravery. "I am bound to serve the High Prince, and Prince Aglarel delivered me from a fate worse than death. I will continue to aid them until they cast me aside, or I cease to draw breath." Then she whisked around the side of the pillar and rushed off at a sprint, and they were so in awe of her devotion that they could only stare after her with slightly-gaping mouths.

Aveil navigated the corpse-strewn floor as best she could at her frenzied pace while wearing her delicate stiletto heels; all around her the shriveled and emaciated bodies of lesser nobles lay scattered, already little more than charred skeletons as the sunlight had flayed the shadows and skin from their bones. The thought of the High Prince and his progeny in a similar state spurred her on faster, prompted her to kick off her heels and fly barefoot across the floor as she tore the half-moon mask from her face –

A geyser of sickly-green acid erupted just inches in front of her and purely on instinct Aveil strafed to one side, growling away the pain of the stray droplets that settled upon her bare arms and burned through her flesh; she kept her eyes forward and locked stubbornly upon her goal, despite her every instinct warning her to survey her surroundings for her adversary, for she was now only twenty feet from the globe of darkness beneath which the Princes of Shade lay wounded or perhaps worse. Another geyser tore through the smooth marble floor and burst right in the middle of her new path forward but this time she was ready for it; without breaking stride Aveil whipped her staff in a half-circle and launched a flurry of oversized icicles at the spout, freezing the acidic spray before any of the sizzling droplets could find her skin. Muttering a hurried command word she summoned a thick cloud of shadows that blanketed the space between herself and the globe of darkness that Lim had conjured, and with her adversary's vision thus impaired the Sceptrana completed her approach and all but hurled herself into the globe. Once there she jammed the butt of the scepter into the ground and hurried through a quick trigger phrase, and with a series of ear-splitting shrieks of protest the globe of darkness changed consistency and hardened into black glass; just seconds later she heard the telltale gentle pattering of droplets raining down upon the dome and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Acid rain," she growled beneath her breath, sickened at the thought, and turning her eyes to the ground she surveyed the true scope of the destruction.

Never before had she seen the proud Princes of Shade reduced to such a wretched and deplorable state, and the sight of it made her stomach churn as she fought down a sudden violent wave of nausea; those that remained entombed beneath the globe of darkness-turned-glass were withered, gaunt, hardly more than piles of blackened bones with weakly-pulsating shadow orbs thudding softly against shriveled ribcages. For a moment she stood there stunned into motionlessness, the scepter the High Prince had crafted for her hanging uselessly at her side and her eyes sweeping involuntarily about the scene of the carnage, and it took half a minute or more before her senses returned to her enough to discern that there were only nine bodies scattered within the perimeter of the globe. Stumbling one disbelieving step forward Aveil shook her head vigorously – was she so disturbed by the sight that her wits had completely flown from her? – and made herself count a second time. Then a third. On the fourth she had no choice but to believe her eyes and accept the grim conclusion.

Either a handful of their number had somehow managed to escape the devastation of the conjured orb of sunlight, or they had been completely incinerated in the blast.

The nearest figure to where she stood, hardly more than a complete skeleton of charred, cracked bones, turned its head toward her and uttered a dry, wordless moan; Aveil descended upon him immediately, laying her staff at his side while her hands hovered uncertainly over his smoldering ribcage. Beneath the bones his shadow orb pulsed feebly, wisps of viscous black shadowstuff bleeding from the hemorrhaging organ, yet somehow he still lived; Aveil couldn't help but wonder if even the perpetual shadow bound into the bodies of the shades possessed the capability to heal such grievous wounds, or if his natural regeneration would fail to sustain him. The skeletal fingers of his left hand twitched, inches from her knee, and Aveil gasped and flinched back only to watch as they scrabbled futilely for the shaft of Stygian Invidia; unable to even guess what he could want with her staff the Sceptrana slid it closer until the tips of those grasping fingers were resting upon the smooth ebony wood.

The azure stone set into the head of the scepter blazed with sudden radiance, so brightly that Aveil shied away and shielded her eyes from the glare; a thin tendril of shadow as faint and inconsistent as vapor seeped from the glittering stone and curled like the smoke of a recently-extinguished fire around the shade's fibrillating shadow orb, and fearing the worst Aveil cried out and waved her hand in a desperate attempt to dispel the smoky haze. Only after the first of the shadow particles drifted into the organ did she realize that his shadow orb was growing stronger, not weaker – the vapor was rejuvenating that life organ, repairing the chalky-looking bones, and as she looked on in awe the smoke began to solidify into a definite shape. The gaseous shadow darkened until it was opaque, and when the particles had knitted themselves as closely together as they could manage they formed a new suit of flawless ebony flesh within which to house the precious shadow orb that was so central to the shade's life; features began to form, fingers and toes and ears and nose and rich silver eyes, and with a ragged intake of breath Second Prince Rivalen removed his fingertips from the staff of the scepter and allowed his hand to fall limp upon the floor.

"I thank you," he told her, his voice hoarse as though he had breathed in a lungful of flames and scalded his own throat, yet still Aveil was so relieved to hear his voice that she choked out a sob of purest relief. "I fear without your help I would surely have perished. I owe you much."

"I did nothing," the Sceptrana insisted, shaking her head in disbelief. "I did not even know that I had the power to aid you."

Rivalen tapped his index finger upon Stygian Invidia once more, and with a start Aveil came to understand. "This weapon of yours is mighty indeed," he gasped out, though it seemed to her ears that perhaps his voice was a little stronger than before. "I can feel the blessings of the Night Mother bound into the wood, and the resilience of your Frostfell throbbing through its icy core. The High Prince made this for you when you took your new office, yet he did not tell you what it is capable of?"

"Shadow and ice," Aveil told him honestly, "and nothing else."

"The two strongest types of matter in creation." Rivalen barked out a laugh, and Aveil's spirits lifted at the sound; the Second Prince's fingers curled into a fist, flexing, testing the depths of his strength, and it seemed to Aveil's eyes that perhaps the thinnest sheen of shadows formed around his body as a result of the reflex. "You truly do have the High Prince's favor. We should never have doubted you, and if we survive this I will personally ensure that no further prejudice befalls you. I would ask that you help me up – my strength has yet to return, and there is much to be done."

Aveil scrambled to her feet and thrust out her left hand toward him, though she knew she must look foolish indeed helping the brute of a shade to his feet; Rivalen, however, seemed to have taken his vow to heart and did not mock her small stature, taking his time, careful despite the fact that he dwarfed the diminutive snow elf by two feet or more. When he was able to stand on his own – a little unsteadily, perhaps, but without fear of falling – Aveil clutched her staff tightly in both hands and respectfully averted her eyes until he had conjured for himself a new set of priest's robes. Breathing deeply, moving slowly – even the slightest movement seemed to tax him – Rivalen surveyed the bodies of his fallen brothers with horror and despair; indeed his expression was so deeply mournful that Aveil felt as though she were intruding, and had to resist the urge to sidle away from him. Only when he shuddered and clutched at his chest with one hand did she move closer, holding her staff out earnestly toward him, pleas tumbling clumsily off of her tongue. "Take it, use it, please, we _must_ save them – "

"It would be disastrous to attempt to siphon any more power from your staff," Rivalen overrode her impatiently. "Had I taken any more than was necessary I may have left it powerless, and you will need it to defend yourself before long. I dare not fight in my weakened state, and I must utilize what strength remains in me wisely if I am to save my brothers."

Aveil's wide, tearful eyes swept the massacre at her feet again, suddenly very afraid. "Are they - ?"

"Dead?" Rivalen supplied, and she had to work to suppress yet another sob. "Even now a few of them are likely gazing upon the face of the Night Mother, though if Shar smiles upon me I may yet be able to lead them back to their bodies." He lifted one arm and pointed to the pile of ashy bones furthest from them, barely contained within the perimeter of the black-glass dome, and said, "Clariburnus was closest to the blast, and tried to shield Mattick and Vattick – fool. The shadows that bind him have almost unraveled. I must be quick."

The High Priest of Shar moved as quickly as his ragged body would allow, Aveil hurrying along in his wake; as they drew level with the dying shade that Rivalen had identified as Fifth Prince Clariburnus he knelt and lifted his hands as if in prayer, but not before Aveil managed to stutter through a question. "How can you tell one from the other?"

"Because the shadows that bind them are the same shadows that bind me," Rivalen told her tersely. "We were all born from the loins of Telamont Tanthul, and raised above the mortal coil by the deep darkness that birthed Lord Shadow – in this way, we are all the same. Now be quiet. I must commune with the goddess uninterrupted if my divinations are to succeed."

She waited for what seemed like an eternity, pacing back and forth behind him as he prayed ceaselessly in the ancient tongue of the Netherese archwizards; the staff in her hand felt strangely cold, as though a great deal of its power had been drained away in exchange for regenerating Rivalen. Her eyes swept over the piles of charred bones yet again, stubbornly counting, wondering morbidly who among the High Prince's court had been obliterated in the blast. It may have been five minutes or five hours – the concept of time was utterly lost on her – before the gentle cadence of Rivalen's voice grew silent and she whipped her head in his direction; a second shade was struggling to sit up, and with one of Rivalen's hands supporting him Clariburnus managed to rise into a sitting position.

"The Most High," the Fifth Prince gasped out, his eyes flitting desperately over the bones littering the ground within the black-glass dome. "Where is he?"

"Not here," Rivalen insisted darkly, "and he isn't the only one. Escanor is gone, and Aglarel too – though where I cannot say. Soleil would have made it her priority to take Escanor away from here – part of her vow as the High Prince's mountebank is to place his life above all others, for he is first in line to the throne in the event that the Most High perishes one day. As for Aglarel, he would have hastened to deliver the High Prince to safety – I have no doubt of that."

The vice that had been gripping the Sceptrana's chest since she had stumbled upon their blackened corpses mercifully loosened a fraction, and she inhaled deeply for the first time in what felt like hours. She opened her mouth to speak when a horrible screech sounded upon the outer surface of the glassy shell, the nearly-deafening protest of something sharp scraping against its smooth surface, and Aveil couldn't help but clap her hands over her ears.

"What is it?" Clariburnus demanded, his head whipping from side to side, but Rivalen was busy about his work and chose not to answer; he was kneeling over the body of one of the twin illusionists now and already deep within his healing prayer, but Aveil noticed that his voice was softer and more disjointed than before and she knew he wouldn't be able to continue in this vein for long.

"This drow conjurer that the Spider Queen sent is mighty," Aveil said aloud, more to herself than to Clariburnus. "If she penetrates the barrier before Prince Rivalen's work is done we will find ourselves in dire straits indeed." She glanced Clariburnus' way then, appraising, and finished reluctantly, "If I were you, I would flee this place."

"Are you mad?!" Clariburnus roared, though a great deal of the effect was lost when his voice broke on the last syllable and he gasped for breath that was hard to come by. "And abandon my brothers here, when such an awful fate surely awaits them?!"

"Yes," said Aveil coolly, her head darting to and fro as she attempted to discern precisely where the shrieks of protest were originating from. "We will need to spare as many lives as we can in the event that things go sour for us here – I will hold this conjurer off as long as I can, in the hopes that before she is through with me Prince Rivalen has managed to save the rest."

"I will fight alongside you," insisted the Fifth Prince stubbornly, his hands grasping for weapons that were not accessible to him. "I could never flee knowing in good conscience that I had left you to face the dangers in my stead. I will help you as best I may."

Yet another ear-splitting shriek sounded against the dome's surface, followed by the telltale crack of the first breach; glancing up they could both clearly see where the glassy surface had begun to shatter, a handful of fractures as thin as a spider's webbing branching out from the point of impact. Aveil growled and clutched her staff even tighter, and faced the Fifth Prince of Shade with sudden anger in her eyes. "No! You can help me by saving yourself, and delivering the others to safety! Prince Lamorak is out there, barely clinging to life – haven't you a care for him? What about Phendrana and Lim, who would be no match for the conjurer if she could but pinpoint their location? What about Hadrhune, who cannot be long for this world? I swore on my life that I would protect all of you – too long I have lived selfishly whilst leaving a trail of broken promises behind me, Prince, and this is one I mean to keep!"

Clariburnus opened his mouth hotly, but it was Rivalen's voice that rebuked him. "Do not argue with her," he warned, sitting back on his heels, a fine sheen of sweat bathing his brow and his fingertips trembling over Eighth Prince Mattick's frighteningly still chest. "We have few options. Only the Sceptrana and Soleil are fit to fight in such conditions, and Soleil would never risk leaving Escanor's side now. Better to take what survivors you can scrape together and flee – return to the Palace, where the High Prince is sure to fortify you against the aftereffects of the daylight."

"Go with him," Aveil insisted, alternating fearful glances between the slowly-lengthening cracks in the black glass dome and determined looks deep into Rivalen's eyes, but after a moment's contemplation the High Priest was shaking his head.

"They are fading," he confided, laboring for breath, and only then did Aveil notice that the thin veil of shadows that had returned shortly after his rejuvenation had faded and his skin had taken on a sickly gray pallor. "I can feel them slipping away. The Night Mother will answer my prayers. She has never neglected to do so in the past. I am her most devout follower. If I remain diligent, she will grant me the strength to save them."

" _You_ are fading," the Sceptrana shot back, gesturing wildly with her scepter. "You are wasting away before my eyes!"

"Shar will preserve me," Rivalen persisted, turning back to the half-formed body of Mattick. "I will not fail. Clariburnus, leave now. If you think you can save those outside the dome, do, but do not place yourself in further danger – I forbid it."

There was nothing else for it – Rivalen claimed seniority over Clariburnus, Aveil knew, and so his word on the matter was final. Clariburnus ground his teeth together, vexed by his brother's order, but said no more to the contrary. The dome cracked again, shards of black glass slick with deadly acid raining down upon them this time, and with a final nod to both of them Clariburnus turned slowly on the spot and vanished into the Plane of Shadow.

Aveil took a step forward toward the perimeter of the dome, preparing to confront their adversary, but a quiet groan at her feet brought her up short and she glanced down; the bones of yet another Prince of Shade that she couldn't immediately identify were there, barely inches from her bare feet, and lifting one skeletal hand the charred remains beckoned her closer. Aveil drifted nearer, her attention caught by something glittering brightly upon his ring finger, and when he held his hand up toward her she understood without asking that she was meant to take it; she grasped it carefully and pulled, and though she moved as gingerly as possible the brittle bones dissolved into a fine black powder the moment the ring had been removed. It was lovely – a mithril band that formed the infinity symbol, a flawless round diamond nestled within the graceful curve of each of its two loops, and it hummed with faint white radiance and felt pleasantly warm to the touch. Glancing questioningly back in the skeleton's direction Aveil thought she could see the faint outlines of feebly-shining irises within the skull's eye sockets, but there was no telling what color they might be.

His voice was fainter than a whisper and would have been lost upon the slightest breath of wind. " _Take it… to Phendrana… Tell him… Tell him I…_ "

The words she was meant to share never came, as in the next moment a devastating impact rocked the entire outer surface of the dome; the force was enough to rattle Aveil's bones and she braced herself from falling with her weight leaned heavily upon her staff, the precious ring clutched safely in her free hand and imparting its gentle warmth upon her palm. And before her eyes the rest of the shade's too-fragile bones shuddered and simply disintegrated, leaving nothing more than a pile of ashes and a barely-visible outline of a swiftly-shriveling shadow orb to suggest that there had ever been someone there at all.

* * *

The shadows blazed to life with the suddenness and intensity of a flash fire, and a pair of wrathful platinum eyes shone from within the perpetual gloom; Aglarel stared, awestruck, as High Prince Telamont picked himself off the floor and meticulously dusted his robes as though more irked by the dirt they had accumulated than anything else. When he seemed certain that his appearance was a little more dignified Telamont glared down at him, and Aglarel took the nonverbal cue and hastened to his feet. There was no questioning his sovereign now – the forbidding, steely glint in his eye spoke volumes. He was hatred and retribution and death personified, and in those dark emotions the Fourth Prince silently rejoiced – when High Prince Telamont Tanthul cast off his pride and regality and love of democracy, when he allowed anger to consume him and he chose to live solely for vengeance, he was mightier than a god.

Now at last they would bring unholy dread down upon the pitiful race that had dared to oppose them.

"You did well," Telamont told him, his praise strangely warped by his rage, yet Aglarel bowed his head in wordless thanks all the same. "These drow are becoming increasingly more irritating. Are they not just as weakened by the sun as we are? I swear upon all that Shar has given me that one day soon I will pluck that damned orb from the sky and cast it into the Underdark, and while the black elves are screaming their last we will dance upon their funeral pyre, you and I."

"I look forward to that day," Aglarel told him sincerely, shuddering with very real anticipation at the thought, but he calmed quickly. "Tell me how I can serve you, Holy Father. I am willing to do anything to pay these stinking drow back in kind for what they have done here tonight."

"I will hold you to that promise," the High Prince swore, and lifting one arm he settled one slender, long-fingered hand grievously over the place where his heart had once been. "We haven't time to bandy pleasantries, I fear. Your brothers are dying; already I feel the life waning from a few of them, and if we do not act they will soon be beyond even divine intervention – when light unmakes shadow there can be no return to the land of the living. You must go to them, my dearest son, my beloved tainted one, my precious devil. No one else now is possessed of the strength to keep them alive."

Something in his father's tone left Aglarel momentarily speechless and he stared back into those platinum eyes blankly, unable to comprehend what had been said. The fact that he was half-Netherese and half-Erinye, a creature of the blackest corner of the Abyss, was his most closely-guarded secret – in all his centuries of life he had yet to divulge it to anyone, and his sovereign had threatened his now-deceased mother with certain unspeakable death if she ever so much as breathed a word of the truth to anyone. Telamont continued to stare back at him, appraising his expression with his characteristic unnerving focus, until Aglarel slowly attempted to formulate words with his suddenly-clumsy tongue. "You are asking me to expose myself."

"I am asking you to save your brothers," Telamont corrected icily, "and if the truth of your heritage becomes known, so be it. All these years you have served me faithfully, never faltering, never wavering from your pledge – on this night when I so desperately need you, will you at last abandon me?"

The idea of anyone becoming privy to the truth of his parentage was abhorrent, but the idea of losing the High Prince's cherished favor was even more so; Aglarel fell to his knees at his sovereign's feet, his head bowed in a show of complete and utter servitude, ready to accept his father's punishment if he chose to offer it. "Never. I will go at once. You have only to tell me if you would like me to drag this drow conjurer back to the foot of your throne alive, or if you would prefer I delivered to you her corpse."

When he looked up Telamont was smiling serenely down at him, and Aglarel felt more peaceful than ever before despite the grisly nature of the work he was poised to perform; the smile he wore made his edict that much more chilling when he decreed, "There will be no need to question the Bitch Queen's miserable emissary – I want her killed in the most painful, repugnant way you can imagine, and then I want her remains to be offered up to Dark Lady Shar as thanks for your victory. I want the Night Mother to spread the word of our swift and merciless vengeance to all those who follow her, so that the supreme might of Thultanthar is no longer a question in anyone's mind. I want _you_ , and no other, to be the instrument of my wrath."

The honor was such that Aglarel couldn't speak, could scarcely breathe for the fierce pride that bloomed within his chest; he rose sinuously back to his feet and the High Prince took his face between his hands and kissed him upon the forehead, and the instant his sovereign's lips grazed his flesh Aglarel felt the shackles of his remaining humanity fall away from his body. Into himself he eagerly accepted his father's determination and pride and glory and fury and retribution, and lastly he took in the smallest fraction of the High Prince's own power; it was smaller than the most miniscule grain of sand, yet it still made him feel as though its terrifying potential might burst through his skin and reduce him to nothingness at any moment. He breathed deeply and evenly, reining in his unwanted emotional excesses and bringing the darker and more desirable ones into sharper focus; never before had Aglarel allowed that red tint of inconsolable, almost uncontrollable rage to fully taint his vision, yet in that moment when he did so for the very first time it made him feel almost giddy with joy. It was sweeter than any other physical release he had ever found, and the _power_ – he veritably trembled beneath the weight of it, and found that he could not wait to deliver the High Prince's judgment unto the poor unfortunate soul who had the misfortune of being named his target.

He breathed deeply once more, and fully succumbed to that all-consuming wrath.

* * *

Aveil's fingers wrapped tightly around the shaft of Stygian Invidia as she stepped out of the relative protection of the black glass dome, the very tips of her fingers tingling and her knuckles white; something crunched painfully beneath her bare feet as she made her way out into the open but she didn't dare look down, knowing that it was only thin shards of the brittle shell of the dome she had cast that had flaked away beneath her adversary's assault. She remembered well enough the particulars of Phendrana's vision and had a feeling that the soft undersides of her now-bleeding feet would soon be the least of her concerns.

Her other hand was curled tightly around some other small object that was digging ever more into the tender flesh of her palm, and with a great effort she willed her fingers to relax; it was the small ring that the dying Prince of Shade had entrusted to her, entreating with what very well may have been his final breath for her to deliver the trinket to Phendrana. The two diamonds entwined in the infinity band shone merrily in the too-bright aftereffects of the daylight spell, a stark contrast to the otherwise hopeless atmosphere that enshrouded her. Aveil had a feeling she knew the identity of the shade whose death she had just witnessed, but better not to think of that now. She needed all of her conviction and every last ounce of strength she could muster if she hoped to provide a suitable defense for the Princes of Shade.

The staff in her hand felt hollow somehow, and as she came to a halt in the center of the ballroom with the corpses of shriveled lesser Shadovar nobles at her feet she wondered if Rivalen had taken everything that Stygian Invidia had to offer and left her with nothing to defend herself. Silently she reasoned that if expending all of the artifact's magical potential resulted in the preservation of the High Prince's sons, she would meet her death admirably and without fear. She had started life anew when she had taken on the title of Sceptrana of Thultanthar, had pledged herself to something greater the day she had struck an accord with Aglarel to protect Most High Telamont at all costs. She had meant every word of her oath. It was the only thing she had that boasted any real worth.

Something was stirring within the curtains of intertwining light and shadow, undulating strangely as it moved forward through those two contrasting forms of matter, and Aveil found herself facing the drow she assumed was responsible for all the irreparable damage wrecked. She was barely taller than Aveil herself with supple skin as black as midnight and hair the hue of the untouched drifts of snowfall upon the tundra; her eyes were the dark crimson of mortal's blood, her curves graceful and womanly, her dark lips curled into a sumptuous and sinister smile of triumph. Never before had Aveil found herself so in awe of another woman's physical beauty or so sickened and enraged by a gesture as simple as a smile – the urge to fling her staff aside and throttle the creature to death with her own two hands was instinctive and strong, but somehow she resisted it.

"How nice of you to come," said the drow in a voice like dark music, her tone soft and seductive, not unlike the one that Aveil herself had been known to use to coerce others into doing her bidding. "It's a pity that you waited so long to appear - had you shown yourself a little sooner your punctuality might have spared a few of these repulsive shadow lords you have chosen to serve."

Aveil tightened her hand upon the comforting shaft of Stygian Invidia, channeling the fresh wave of anger she felt at her adversary's comments into the smooth grains of the wood, silently willing its powers to return in full. It struck her then how disheveled she must look with her fine dress torn and her feet leaving dark red smears upon the marble floor and globs of molten sunlight drying in her hair, and how impressive a figure her adversary cut with the last rays of the daylight spell illuminating her figure with an almost ethereal glow, and desperately she hoped their appearances weren't indicative of what the future might hold. Even knowing she might well be powerless against her enemy Aveil stood her ground and held her head high.

"Why do you not speak?" barked the drow, a flicker of annoyance showing through her smug façade. "You are in the presence of Nhilue Xorlarrin, she who has the divine favor of the Spider Queen. And how could I not? See how your hideous shadow sorcerers shrivel and perish in the face of the sun's rays and I stand untouched!" Aveil watched, despaired, as the drow who called herself Nhilue stretched out an arm toward the last dying rays of sunlight she had cast, bathing her ebony skin in its soft golden light, and drew it back completely unharmed with a shriek of victorious laughter. "The blessing of the Spider Queen is upon me! My triumphs here are assured!"

"The sun's rays do me no harm," Aveil pointed out, more to derail her adversary's self-promoting tirade than anything else. "I was not born in the shadow, but in the heart of the Frostfell where the sun shining down upon the snow is brighter than anything your eyes have ever laid eyes on. Your meager imitation won't be enough to hurt me."

Nhilue's lips parted in an indulgent smirk as she drew a thin obsidian wand from the plunging neckline of her silken gown, and Aveil braced herself for what she knew was coming; the drow gave a single wave of her wand, the motion almost lazy, and all around her rose up an animate gray fog that swirled with a life all its own. She watched as the fog solidified into the forms of several four-legged creatures – it brought to mind the moment Rivalen had sapped Stygian Invidia of all its magic simply to revive himself, and Aveil despaired all over again at the memory – and pawing the ground with their serrated black claws the hellhounds Nhilue had conjured snarled at the diminutive snow elf and paced uneasily back and forth at their master's feet. Nhilue smiled almost lovingly down at the nearest one and stroked its matted coat with her perfectly-manicured fingernails, and the creature relished its master's caress as all the while it surveyed Aveil with its cruel, eager crimson eyes.

"The maid who protects the Lords of Shadow believes she can staunch the flow of the Spider Queen's power," the conjurer cooed softly to her demonic pet. "Let us give her the opportunity to prove whether or not that is true."

The hellhound threw its head back and loosed a chilling, mournful howl, and as the other members of its pack added their voices to the din Aveil shuddered and lifted her staff.

* * *

"There's nothing else for it," gasped Lim, leaning as far around the pillar as he dared. "If we are to attempt escape, this is the time. We will not get another opportunity." When his words were met with only silence he glanced back impatiently, to find Phendrana crouched over the lifeless body of Hadrhune with his abnormally-long fingers probing the seneschal's forehead and Third Prince Lamorak standing guard over the pair of them looking so frail and weak that Lim had to suppress the urge to laugh out loud. Instead he turned fully to face them and crossed his arms, adding tersely, "Will you stay here and risk allowing the shadows that bind you to be unmade by another burst of daylight, then?"

"I can hear him," Phendrana was mumbling vaguely, his bright silver eyes wide yet somehow unseeing as they searched Hadrhune's face. "His voice is faint, but it echoes within my mind. There is life left in him yet."

"In his weakened state he has little hope of surviving even a brief sojourn into the Shadow Realm," Lamorak told the doppelganger grimly, his breathing shallow, his back slightly hunched. "If we were beset by denizens of that plane as we attempted to flee to the Palace… I shudder to think what might happen to us. We cannot defend him and hope to arrive at our destination unscathed, Phendrana."

"Then let us leave him!" hissed Lim desperately, waving one arm to indicate the battle unfolding behind them, and Lamorak couldn't help but wince at the sound of guttural snarls and snapping jaws as the hellhounds closed in on their prey. "We have no other option!"

"I will be sure to inform Hadrhune that it was _you_ who prompted us to abandon him when he wakes," spoke up a new voice that had not been among them before, and it was then that Fifth Prince Clariburnus materialized in their midst and stumbled heavily into the pillar to keep himself from swooning for the ground. "He can hardly be considered a forgiving man… Your globe of darkness saved us, drow, though for how long I cannot say. My brother Rivalen labors within it even now in a desperate attempt to keep the rest of the High Prince's brood from joining the Night Mother, but his power dwindles quickly and I fear he is doomed to fail in this. He has commanded me to flee, but I see now that my place for the time being is here. Lamorak, go with the drow to the Palace where the Most High will surely fortify you against the pains you have suffered – Rivalen has sensed that he, as well as Escanor and Aglarel, escaped this place before the blast."

"And you?" Lamorak argued.

Clariburnus' eyes were upon Phendrana now, who was still mumbling incoherently and pressing the pads of his fingers against Hadrhune's pale skin. "Phendrana can lead Hadrhune back from the Veil – the Night Mother knows I have seen him accomplish even more extraordinary feats before! – but he will undoubtedly need protection. I will stay with him for as long as I deem it safe for us to remain here, and help him all I can."

"What if you are set upon by the conjurer's hounds?" Lamorak demanded, hardly pleased with the prospect of leaving them behind.

The Fifth Prince straightened, his eyes slits of molten silver within his shadow-swathed face when he responded, "Then I will drag Phendrana back to the Palace with me, and we will mourn Hadrhune every step of the way."

"No." Though he hadn't so much as lifted his gaze from searching Hadrhune's face no one could question that it was Phendrana who had spoken; he continued to work diligently, his expression still vacant, but the crease that had formed between his eyebrows suggested he had heard something he did not care for. "You cannot stay here – you haven't the strength to even defend yourself, let alone me. I beseech you, go with Lamorak and Lim. I cannot ask any of you to stay here and place yourselves at risk on account of me."

"Out of the question," Clariburnus protested immediately, his posture stiffening with stress.

"Phendrana…" Lamorak began, but he would say no more on the subject; the snapping of jaws had grown almost unbearably close as they stood there arguing, and they were out of time to debate the matter. Stumbling forward a step Lamorak seized his younger brother by the elbow, ignoring Clariburnus' protests and curses, and had Phendrana spared the Third Prince a glance he would have taken note of the deep regret and sorrow chiseled into his every feature as he fled.

The silence that followed their departure was profoundly hollow, so much so that the doppelganger's concentration was nearly shattered by the unnatural quiet pressing in on him from all sides; instead he delved ever deeper into Hadrhune's broken mind, picking his way carefully through the fragments of consciousness that was all that remained in the wake of the devastating daylight spell. The cacophony of contrasting sounds and images that met him as he infiltrated that chaotic expanse was so jarring that Phendrana wanted nothing more than to retreat, but he didn't dare flee after Clariburnus and Lamorak for fear that Hadrhune would be forever and truly lost. There was screaming from somewhere far off, and a disjointed sobbing that seemed at once just over his shoulder and yet miles away; Phendrana stumbled after both sounds, unable to decipher which path was the way to his goal, meandering aimlessly through the seneschal's shattered mind and increasingly in danger of losing himself there with each passing moment.

The slavering and growling that was the only external stimulus Phendrana remained coherent enough to perceive was now so near that he knew they were in immediate danger, but the doppelganger was so lost within the chaos of Hadrhune's mind that he couldn't return to his own mind to protect them.

Something struck the marble not far from where he knelt and skittered along the cracked surface with the sound of a clear, rich bell tone; so great was his confusion and so insistent his curiosity that it served to wrench Phendrana back into himself, and focusing his eyes he glanced down. A small, faintly luminous trinket had come to rest just inches from where Hadrhune's lolling head lay supported upon Phendrana's lap; upon closer inspection the doppelganger identified the object as a band of mithril that twined intimately around two small, round diamonds that shone like teardrops lit by moonlight, and instinctively he found one hand darting out toward it. There was some curious magic bound into the precious metal, something about the purity of the stones that called out to his very _soul_ , and even before his fingers plucked it from where it lay Phendrana knew that it was somehow meant for him.

The moment he opened his hand the band worked its way onto his left ring finger as though magnetized to that very spot, and when he closed his hand into a fist around it everything changed. The mental fatigue and chaos and white noise he had been battling since the daylight spell had erupted around them abruptly vanished like the breaking dawn banishing a lingering fog; his mind, previously alive with panic and hopelessness and fear, suddenly became as eerily quiet as a barren, forgotten wasteland. The uncertainties he had been harboring since he had first become a shade dissolved into nothing, and in the absence of those doubts he could see the true scope of his powers for the very first time – they were joyous and terrifying and almost limitless, and he embraced his full potential with manic fervor.

Phendrana's head snapped to the left, to the hellhound that had circled around the left side of the pillar and was even now slinking predatorily toward them, and the moment the mindmaster's chilling gaze landed upon it the hulking creature stiffened violently before collapsing lifelessly to the ground. There was no physical strike, no signs of struggle, yet instinctively Phendrana knew that it was but a fraction of his mind's potential that had utterly killed the aberration. Dimly he was aware of other external stimuli striking up all around him, a gout of flames licking the walls and the dreadful howling of beasts in unspeakable agony and the high-pitched, maniacal laughter of a voice he was certain he would recognize in any other circumstance, but the unerring calm and focus he now felt wouldn't quite allow him to center his attentions on anything other than the immediate task at hand; looking down into Hadrhune's lifeless face Phendrana dove headlong back into the seneschal's mind, no longer overwhelmed by the chaos he encountered within. The fragments of consciousness looked more like an easily-read map now than they had before and he raced along it, knowing without asking where those splinters of thoughts would lead him, no longer afraid of what he might find but greedily seeking it out like a dying man searching for water –

Were it not for his impeccably-sharpened instincts Phendrana might not have noticed what remained of Hadrhune's subconscious when he came upon it, for there was nothing left to distinguish the High Prince's chosen emissary from the ruined debris he now sifted through. He simply turned a corner and stopped short, morbidly mystified by the shards of broken black glass and viscous, oily shadowblood and grains of ebony ash and wispy gray vapor that he knew was all that remained of the man whose consciousness he now sought to repair. There was an incomprehensible whispering coming from the grains of ash that somehow Phendrana recognized, though, and with unnerving calm he descended upon the debris and plucked a jagged piece of black glass from the hard, cold ground.

 _Leave it,_ breathed a tired, harried voice that seemed borne upon a breath of frosted wind. _Just leave it, there's nothing left, look at me –_

 _Shut up, damn you,_ Phendrana shot back without missing a beat, and he watched with the detachment of someone caught in an out-of-body experience as his hands worked independently yet at one with each other to repair the terminal damage; beneath his capable hands glass became scraps of flesh, oil became blood, ash became inklings of thought and vapor became shadow, and before he could even begin to explain how he had known what to do he had created a fully-functioning stream of consciousness from thousands of pieces of shattered thoughts in barely a handful of seconds.

Then without warning he returned to himself with the suddenness of the tension being released from a taut bowstring, and Hadrhune was standing before him wearing an expression of awe as he stammered, "How did you…?"

"There isn't time," Phendrana interrupted, his voice oddly hollow and inflectionless, and though he hadn't an inkling of what was happening around them he knew at least that this much was true; the ballroom was bathed in flame now, everything that could be incinerated in the blaze serving as fuel to feed the raging inferno, and the maniacal laughter was mounting into a startling crescendo as the otherworldly shrieks of unspeakable agony joined in like the most macabre symphony. "The other princes are dying."

Hadrhune's hands were roaming his own body, arms and chest and face like animate lightning, and it was clear in his expression that he could scarcely believe he was alive. "Can we - ?"

"Yes," the doppelganger overrode him yet again, though for the present the seneschal seemed content to follow his lead. "But I'll need your help." Then he seized Hadrhune by the wrist, and they ran.

The daylight had long since died; molten lava was oozing along the floor in steaming rivulets, melting through the marble and making each step more treacherous than the next, yet Phendrana didn't slow. The heat was almost unbearable and the stench even more so, the pungent odor of sulfur mixed with the sickening smell of burnt animal hair as the last of the hellhounds melted away with a piteous whine; the voice that had been screaming was now sobbing brokenly like a small frightened child, begging nonsensically for mercy, but the answering voice was still rolling in peals of wicked laughter that raised chills upon every inch of Phendrana's skin and something told him that mercy was a luxury their adversary would not be granted this night. He skipped nimbly over each patch of magma they encountered, towing an unprotesting Hadrhune along in his wake in the direction of the half-shattered black glass dome that was crumbling in the center of the smoldering ballroom. A slab of the ceiling broke away and tumbled down mere feet away but they were both sure-footed and focused on their destination and so did not sway from their course, and the instant they had sprinted within the perimeter of the swiftly-collapsing dome Phendrana dropped Hadrhune's hand and cast an appraising look around.

Only the ring upon his finger rooted his thoughts in a numbing, placid calm and kept him from flying into a rage at the sight of several small piles of charred bones littering the ground at their feet; at his side Hadrhune gasped, at a loss for words, but for Phendrana their objective was clearer than ever and he did not allow himself to become distracted.

"Your powers will have returned by now," the mindmaster told his unlikely companion, secretly pleased by the deep curtain of shadow that enveloped the seneschal's body and the wellspring of slumbering shadow magic he felt emanating from every fiber of Hadrhune's being. "You must lead them back into darkness before they lose their way."

Hadrhune nodded, and if he was at all perplexed by what the doppelganger was asking him to do he did not show it; he cast one brief glance around them, taking in the smoking husks of skeletons that had once been the Princes of Shade with hatred in his eyes, then he lifted his darkstaff high overhead before driving the butt of the scepter into the ground.

The force of the blow sent a fissure trembling through the foundation of the palace and with a resounding _crack_ the darkstaff splintered in Hadrhune's hand; from the core of the scepter spilled a deep darkness the depths of which even Phendrana's piercing gaze could not penetrate, and it crept along the ground at their feet like a noxious poison. The clouds of shadow thickened, bringing to the ailing shades a sense of peace and rejuvenation, but Phendrana knew it was too early to relax – the flames were bearing down upon them in earnest, their crimson tongues lashing, eager to consume everything within reach –

Phendrana flexed his left hand into a fist and the mithril band responded to his urgency; reaching deep within himself the doppelganger took hold of the intangible barrier that the ring had constructed to keep unwanted stimuli from infiltrating his conscious mind and flung it outward, letting it breach his defenses and spiral out of the confines of his body, stretching it, molding it –

Every fracture in the black glass dome that Aveil had erected to defend the Princes of Shade shone silver for a half second before simultaneously smoothing into a new, impenetrable barrier; the external shield Phendrana had summoned to protect them from the flames stretched to accommodate his needs and settled into the consistency and hardness of a diamond, its facets shimmering with a translucent radiance and its flawless surfaces unyielding even in the harsh environment they now faced. Phendrana could feel the flames lashing against the perimeter of his shield, seeking weakness, but the heat ceased to faze him and the boundaries held against the inferno. The flames intensified and with it the light, but beside him Hadrhune growled in denial and rage and the thick clouds of darkness billowed into a dense fog that served to blot out even the harshest ray of light shining on the outside.

Inside Phendrana's shield and Hadrhune's blanket of shadows everything was still and serene, and within that blissful darkness even the most critically wounded shade found solace from his ills.

They stood together working tirelessly against the all-consuming flames for what might have been days; after an immeasurable period of time Phendrana perceived that all that threatened them simply ceased to be, and when that moment came he lost the ability to comprehend anything further. The last thing he glimpsed was the inconsistent vapor-image of a vaguely humanoid shape hovering over him, smiling faintly with pride and a familiar liquid warmth that stirred something both agonizing yet blissfully familiar deep within the depths of the doppelganger's chest, but whether it was real or a phantom born of his mind's exhaustion he couldn't be sure.

* * *

The hellhounds slunk into predatory crouches and moved with the grace and synchronicity of a well-trained pack, and for her part Aveil could only back away slowly and allow herself to be herded into a position of their choosing. Experimentally she lifted the head of her staff a fraction but was unsurprised to find the artifact depleted, the azure stone gleaming a dull, colorless gray. She had known from the moment Rivalen had laid a hand upon her treasured scepter that she would be unable to defend herself when this moment arrived, yet she couldn't find it within herself to resent him. If there was even the barest fraction of a chance that he could safeguard the rest of the High Prince's progeny, could she really regret coming to his aid?

One of the slavering beasts leapt out of their tightly-knit formation, its over-eager jaws snapping and its acidic drool burning holes right through the marble underfoot; Aveil strafed clumsily to one side, catching her trailing foot on a jagged piece of debris and stumbling backward, and unable to regain her balance she flung her arms out to break her fall. The moment she opened her non-dominant hand the ring she had been holding bounced away with a clear _ping_ , and the knowledge that she had lost such a precious trinket brought hot tears to her eyes. She had utterly failed the last task she had been given. Surely there was no hope that she might deliver the ring to Phendrana now.

A second hellhound lowered its head and charged, its anticipation at claiming its next meal outweighing its pack mentality, and Aveil rolled to one side to avoid it; its jaws caught her ankle and its teeth sank through the flesh, tearing through tendons, robbing her of the ability to walk. Aveil lashed out with her staff and landed a crippling blow to the beast's temple, leaving it momentarily stunned, but the damage was done – unable to walk and completely defenseless she could only buy herself a handful of seconds before gnashing teeth descended upon her from all sides. Unable to watch her death as it came for her she closed her eyes tight, her fingers tight upon the shaft of Stygian Invidia, the tears spilling unbidden down her cheeks –

She heard the scrabbling of claws upon marble and the vicious snap of a ruthless creature as it leapt for the kill, but she did not feel the cruel tearing jaws as they stripped the flesh from her bones; the urge to open her eyes and survey the totality of the damage as it was wrecked upon her body was strong but Aveil resisted, more out of fear for what she might find than anything else. The silence was broken by a helpless whine followed by the sickening snap of bone, and at last she couldn't resist the temptation and allowed her eyes to open a fraction.

A familiar silhouette had her at its back, and with one hand it held the hellhound that had lunged aloft; the creature's neck was twisted at an unnatural angle and its extremities twitched as it suffered its final death throes, and as she watched the figure cast the dead aberration aside. Standing behind the now-hesitating pack of hellish canines Nhilue Xorlarrin scowled and tossed her hair over her shoulder, surveying the intruder with no small amount of disdain.

"You Netherese are disgusting," she spat with a shudder of revulsion, and Aveil felt bile welling in the back of her throat at the drow's words. "Your people are like cockroaches – you won't ever just _stay dead_."

As if in response to some nonverbal command the remaining members of the hellhound pack leapt toward the shade that stood in their path.

Turning his head a fraction Fourth Prince Aglarel fixed one eye upon the cowering Aveil and said, "You should get back."

There was a faint aura of dark crimson shimmering around the prince's right hand and he squared himself up to face Nhilue Xorlarrin, curling his fingers into a fist and growling low in the back of his throat; as if in response to that guttural, animalistic sound the hazy red glow intensified and before Aveil's disbelieving eyes the extremity simply burst into flame. The ebony skin of his right arm rippled and hardened beneath the extreme temperature; deep, angry crimson fissures blazed as the extremity took on the consistency of volcanic rock, and when he opened his hand and the first sizzling drops of molten magma dripped onto the marble underfoot Aveil scrambled backward, the searing agony in her torn and bleeding leg all but forgotten.

Aglarel closed his eyes and breathed deeply as if to steady himself, and when he opened them again they blazed with livid red fires all their own; dropping into a crouch Aglarel cocked his fist back and slammed the appendage into the ground, shattering the marble with the force of the impact and sending a gout of steaming magma flowing out of his arm in all directions. A pair of the hellhounds were incinerated in the initial blast, lost beneath the first swell of lava that exploded out in all directions, and the others skittered backward with yelps of terror as they struggled to avoid the burning, viscous substance now oozing toward them. Aveil crawled away frantically, trembling and crying freely now, flecks of lava searing through the flesh of her arms and legs as she sought refuge from the blaze –

The lava crept like a silent, remorseless killer along the ground with Aglarel at its epicenter, and when the hellhounds began to backpedal toward their master he moved to close the distance between them; the first step he took melted through the fine leather of his supple boots and incinerated the hem of his slacks but left not so much as even the hint of a burn upon his skin. His second step was less experimental and far more confident, no longer speculative of what the consequences might be, and on the third step he sank into a predator's crouch and stalked forward toward the cowering beasts with a hungry gleam in his eye. The slowest of the hounds could not altogether avoid the first swipe of Aglarel's blazing volcanic arm and it sprawled to one side, its jaws hopelessly mangled by the blow, its right eye burned from its socket by the magma, and as it sank into the slowly-undulating lava it died without a sound. The next nearest aberration growled and leapt in a rage, its jaws sinking into Aglarel's unchanged left arm and shaking its head with manic ferocity; the Fourth Prince did not recoil, did not show pain in any way, but simply seized the canine's skull in his streaming hand and crushed it with seemingly no effort. Aglarel dropped its lifeless corpse to the ground at his side and continued forward, and Aveil watched in horror as the lava washed over the hellhound's body and reduced it to ash in mere seconds.

The hellhounds were breaking rank now, scrabbling every which way to avoid the magma lake as it oozed across the ballroom floor with increasing swiftness; Aglarel lifted his hardened, dripping hand and conjured a ball of sparking flame in his palm before launching it as easily as Aveil might cast a spell with her staff. The burning orb struck one of the fleeing hounds in the flank and scorched a hole right through it, leaving little more than a charred mess of blackened bone and singed hair in its wake. The lava was catching Aglarel's clothes on fire now, stealing up his velvet cape as though it possessed a life of its own; the flames leapt ever higher around him and the inferno blazed out of control, smothering the tattered tapestries, scorching the fine table furnishings, swiftly reducing the grand ballroom to a cesspool of living flame. The hellhounds were out of places to flee to, for by now every exit out of the ballroom was either obstructed by smoldering slabs of marble or entirely engulfed in flames; Aveil at last succeeded in dragging herself around the other side of a cracked and crumbling pillar, wondering how long she could use the failing structure as a refuge as the once-lavish chamber collapsed all around them.

Aglarel completed his approach and with a snarl Nhilue Xorlarrin lunged toward him – Aveil couldn't help but admire her foolish bravery and her blind, reckless abandon. She flung her spell desperately from the tips of her ebon fingers; sunlight streaked through the burning ballroom like a stroke of lightning, so close in proximity and so blinding in its radiance that it would have incinerated any other shade in an instant.

She should have known after everything she had witnessed that Fourth Prince Aglarel was far more than just a shade.

The sunlight exploded like a flare off the surface of the sun, momentarily whiting out Aveil's vision and leaving her eyes streaming; it banished the billowing cloak of shadows that undulated gently around Aglarel's body, and the silhouette it revealed was nothing short of terrifying. He was but a dark figure outlined by brilliant golden rays, the last of his clothing hanging in singed scraps of ruined fabric about his body, droplets of molten flame still running in crimson rivulets down his smoldering right arm and pooling at his feet. Aveil squinted through the glare, certain she was about to witness the untimely demise of the High Prince's favored fourth son, only to gaze at him in awe when the light dimmed and he was standing there just as powerful as before.

Briefly Aveil wondered what manner of creature he could possibly be to withstand such a powerful spell.

The last of Nhilue's self-assurance faded from her expression and her features twisted in terror; the obsidian wand slipped from her fingers and incinerated in the lava in a puff of multicolored sparks as she backed away in fear. There might have been some other nameless emotion in the drow's face that Aveil could not determine through her streaming eyes, but whatever it was dragged a low rumble of laughter from somewhere deep within Aglarel's chest. He closed the distance between them determinedly, his left hand darting out and clamping down upon the conjurer's slender wrist, and though the movement didn't appear to be executed with any such brute force Aveil clearly heard the snapping of bone before Nhilue's screams filled the room. Above the awful din of her shrieking, Aglarel's mounting laughter was easy to distinguish.

"Please," Nhilue managed to choke out in between sobs, her ruby eyes swimming with a fresh wave of tears. "We only do the Spider Queen's bidding… We're only here for Lim Tal'eyve."

"Oh, are you?" Aglarel wondered aloud bemusedly, and Aveil scarcely recognized his voice – it was the deep but insistent rolling of thunder splitting the sky, a dread earthquake shaking the ground.

"It's true!" The comely Xorlarrin's bottom lip was trembling uncontrollably – indeed, from a distance she appeared to be shaking from head to toe. "He is a mortal enemy of the Spider Queen! She has sent us here to eliminate him, as well as those who continuously impede our path to him!"

"Ah, yes," Aglarel chortled, darkly amused. "How often I forget that you are but the tragic, enslaved pawns of your wretched goddess, and that your will is not your own. How foolish of me to omit that one insignificant little detail."

Without warning he increased pressure upon her wrist and gave her arm a seemingly gentle tug, yet even that was more than enough force to tear the drow's arm from her shoulder. Nhilue stared open-mouthed and stunned at her own appendage clutched in Aglarel's hand and half-fainted on the spot, swooning for the ground, but the Fourth Prince moved quickly and dropped the bloody extremity into the lava before catching her in the crook of his arm.

"As if you did not come to this place willingly," he hissed, all pretense of sympathy gone from his monotonous tone of voice now, and reaching up he traced one crystalline tear track the length of her angular face from the corner of her eye to the graceful curve of her jaw with his magma-encrusted index finger.

"As if you did not leap at the chance to do the Bitch Queen's bidding," Aglarel snarled, disgusted by Nhilue's renewed screams, and raising his volcanic arm he painstakingly dripped lava into her eyes one by one until she was blind.

"As if you did not relish the opportunity to mount a completely unprovoked assault upon the City of Shade." Nhilue Xorlarrin's cries of agony were now so loud that they tore the back of her throat; as she began to choke on her own blood Aglarel smothered her face with his deadly lava-smeared hand, melting through first her flesh, then her muscles, and finally her skull. When nothing remained in his arms save the charred scraps of bloody flesh the magma hadn't quite incinerated he discarded the drow into the river of molten flame in which he stood, saying, "Tell me, child of Lolth – where is your precious goddess now?"

For a moment Aveil allowed herself to feel the smallest twinge of relief as she peeked cautiously around her meager shelter – surely now that the drow Phendrana had witnessed killing her in his vision was dead she was safe? – but the sensation was short lived; turning slowly Aglarel took notice of her cowering behind the cracked marble surface and his eerie crimson eyes blazed anew, his expression deranged. He moved with new purpose through the roiling magma, his ceremonial fangs glinting ruby in the light of a thousand raging fires, his face alive with hatred and vengeance –

Aveil scrambled backward but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide from the frightful devilish creature that was all that remained of the man who not long ago had given purpose to her wretched existence. She could only gaze up at him, her delicate shoulders quaking and her violet eyes petrified, as he stalked right up to where she lay sprawled and seized the front of her gown with his left hand, hauling her off the ground and into the air until Aveil was suspended helplessly almost nose-to-nose before him.

"Prince," she managed to gasp out, for her sobs were now so great that she almost couldn't speak in her hysteria. "It's me. The Sceptrana."

The crackling of flames, coupled with the soft sound of Aglarel's primal growls, filled her ears. There was no hint of recognition in the depths of his crimson eyes, and Aveil thought she could see the shadow of her own swiftly-approaching death concealed deep within those hellish fires.

"Prince, please," she begged him, clutching at his arm with her desperately-swiping fingertips, hoping somehow she might stay the death stroke with some meager show of strength. "I have served you loyally… I am wholeheartedly devoted to you, and to the High Prince. Can you not recall?"

Still Aglarel said nothing. She feared she had already lost him to the hatred that so obviously consumed him, but she threw caution to the winds.

"Aglarel, it's Aveil," she sobbed, her face damp with tears, her voice thick with emotion. "Don't do this. You know me. You know that I would do anything for you – even allow you to take my life, if I thought it might please you. Will that bring you back from this dark place that has ensnared you? When my blood stains your hands, will you return to yourself?" And when the Fourth Prince snapped his dreadful fangs just millimeters from her face and lifted his magma-encased arm she nodded in acceptance, saying, "Then let it be so, dear prince."

Another groping hand seized the back of her gown and all but tore her from Aglarel's grasp, and that was how Aveil found herself cradled in the arms of High Prince Telamont; she stared up into Aglarel's cruel, unforgiving red eyes and her body wracked with sobs, so much so that Telamont tightened his arms around her until the warmth of his body sank into her skin and she quieted. The High Prince faced his son sadly, and Aveil couldn't be sure but she thought she saw regret swimming within the ancient monarch's platinum eyes.

"Come back to me, my son," he crooned, in the voice a father might use to soothe his bawling child. "It is all done, and the threat has passed. Are you so lost in the clutches of the dark creature that sleeps within you that you will murder our precious Sceptrana, who has given you nothing but limitless devotion since the moment she entered into my service?"

Something about the High Prince's voice seemed to reach the single shred of humanity that remained alive in Aglarel's mind and he hesitated, growling softly; it seemed to Aveil that perhaps his eyes were not as bright red as they had been a moment before. Aglarel cocked his head minutely to the side, assessing the High Prince's face, searching, remembering.

"That's it," Telamont encouraged. "Come back."

A sob ripped itself involuntarily from Aveil's lips and Aglarel's eyes flitted to her face as though struck dumb by the sound; though she was more frightened of him than of anyone else she had ever met Aveil held his gaze and did not allow herself to look away. And then without warning recognition sparked electric in the Fourth Prince's eyes and the crimson fires within his face dulled; he blinked once, mystified, confused, and abruptly they were the calculating silver eyes of the man she had once knew. Aglarel lifted his hand as though reaching out for her, his expression brimming with self-loathing, some ill-formed apology on the tip of his tongue –

"You did well," said Telamont, the words saturated with praise, and the moment Aglarel tore his eyes away from Aveil's to regard the High Prince she felt unconsciousness rising up to wash over her.

Aveil let it take her gladly, half wishing she would never wake again.


	12. The Truth

"What is the High Prince's official statement regarding all that has transpired tonight?" asked First Prince Escanor, and when his voice came out pinched with strain Soleil leaned right over the back of her fiance's chair and worked her fingers deftly into the bunched muscles in his shoulders, her eyes downcast with sympathy.

Lamorak was slouched low in a chair that was not his own at the far end of the council table with his feet stacked rather uncharacteristically upon the granite surface, arms crossed, head down. His eyes were tracing the great fissures in the table that Phendrana had caused just weeks ago, marveling at the passage of time – it seemed impossible that such a recent event could feel as though it had occurred entire lifetimes ago. When he spoke his voice was soft, his expression one of brooding. "Only that the threat has been neutralized. At present, he will say no more on the subject."

"And our brothers?" Escanor pressed, hardly satiated by such a vague response.

"The seven youngest are all in the Most High's immediate care – the shadows that bind them have mostly unraveled, and they are dependent now upon our sovereign's diligence to help them recover. Rivalen and Clariburnus are doing what they can to aid him, but there is little support they can offer. Both were caught in the initial blast but were safeguarded by Lim's globe of darkness; Rivalen drew his strength from the Sceptrana's staff, but depleted nearly all of his power just to revive Clariburnus – who then, as you know, placed himself at great risk to help Lim and me escape."

There was an uncertain pause as Escanor considered all the information presented. "And Aglarel?"

"He is the reason that the High Prince survived this ordeal at all," Lamorak told his eldest brother tersely, though for the life of him he couldn't explain just why he was feeling so suddenly hostile.

Escanor was gaining momentum now, his brow furrowed with suspicion, and Lamorak couldn't say that he blamed him – there were several things that didn't quite add up. "It is rumored that the Sceptrana was doing battle with the drow when the blaze was set. How did she manage to escape with her life?"

"The Most High has told me that Aglarel returned to the ballroom at great personal risk to recover her, and both of them are resting now. Neither of them were badly wounded in the fire – Aveil sustained several serious injuries when she faced the drow, but they have been attended to. It is said she will make a full recovery."

"And what started the fire?" The skepticism in the First Prince's voice was easy to hear; Lamorak had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

"I cannot say," said the Determinist Prime irritably, "and the Most High can only speculate at this point. He blames the drow, but the details are unknown."

Soleil wisely took up a more empathetic line of questioning on her fiance's behalf, sensing that Lamorak was reaching the end of his patience with his oldest brother's rather blunt inquiries. "How is Phendrana? Have you spoken with him? I understand that he was instrumental in saving many lives today."

Lamorak uncrossed his arms and set the tip of his right index finger into the jagged groove of one of the fissures in the granite table, running the digit slowly the length of the fracture, lost in thought. For the longest time both the mountebank and the First Prince were certain he would not answer at all, but he spoke up in the end. "I have spoken with him twice, though only briefly – the severity of his mental fatigue currently makes him incapable of long term conversation, and he struggles to answer even the simplest of questions. The first time we spoke he exhibited signs of recognition, but he confessed to being unfamiliar with me." The Third Prince broke off for a moment, his throat tight and the backs of his eyes strangely hot, and swallowed hard in an attempt to compose himself. "The High Prince ordered that we allow him to be isolated for a few hours, and so I spoke with him a second time not long ago – during that meeting he was able to identify me and answer several basic questions, but the more finite details still elude him. He is sleeping now."

"Are you saying… that…?" Soleil opened and closed her mouth several times more, but her voice had failed her and in the end she was unable to voice her fears aloud. Lamorak closed his eyes, his finger still absentmindedly tracing the path of the crack in the table, no longer able to meet her gaze.

"Nothing is certain," he admitted softly, "but in my opinion he overexerted his own mental capacities – in short, he asked more of his mind than he was physically able to provide. I believe the strain has permanently and adversely affected his brain, but only time will tell to just what extent. At this point it is his memory that suffers most, but perhaps he will recover in time."

"The Night Mother watch over him," Escanor prayed quietly, looking crestfallen, and still standing diligently behind him Soleil dissolved into silent tears. Lamorak said nothing but allowed her to grieve quietly, privately wishing that he could do the same without sacrificing his dignity or opening himself to ridicule. "It saddens me to hear of it, but I have feared as much since his return from the excavation of Castle Tethyr. I know I am not the only one who believes that his transformation was… flawed."

Abruptly Lamorak was desperate to be alone with his thoughts and he bolted out of his chair as though it had burned him; Escanor and Soleil looked on confusedly, at a loss for words, and he took advantage of their momentary speechlessness and formulated an excuse to leave them. "I must return to the High Prince," he blurted out, "and offer my assistance. There is much to be done… Excuse me."

Lamorak didn't return to the infirmary, but locked himself away in his private quarters to sort out his thoughts. The idea of enduring anyone's company, of continuing to pretend that he was unaffected by all that had transpired, was simply too much for him to bear.

* * *

Lim Tal'eyve was skulking in the alcove to the left of the infirmary when Hadrhune let himself out. The shadow sorcerer allowed his eyes to linger upon the drow for half a second, and then he was shoving past him and striding purposefully down the hallway.

Having expected as much Lim hurried along in his wake, matching him stride for stride with only a little difficulty – a drow with no Netherese ancestry, Lim was the shortest member of the Shadow Council excluding their two female members. "The Princes are faring much better?"

"The High Prince would be more than happy to answer your inquiries, I am sure," Hadrhune spat back icily without so much as a second glance in the drow's direction. "I have business to attend to."

"What business?" Lim inquired with a scoff, his tone making it clear that he doubted the seneschal had anything better to do than come up with clever ways to evade his questions. "All council business has been temporarily suspended – the Most High has prioritized the health of his sons, and understandably so. Indeed, you seem to find yourself far better off than most – despite the fact that you were nearer to death's door than any of the others, from all that I have heard. How can it be that you have managed to recover so quickly?"

"I do not owe you any answers," said Hadrhune flatly, and throwing open the great double doors he brushed past the gate guards flanking the entrance to the Palace Most High and descended the wide stone staircase toward The Circle. "And why should I, when you so easily forsake my companionship for your own self-preservation?"

Lim opened his mouth to respond with a cutting, sarcastic remark, but seemed to think better of it at the last instant and wisely swallowed his ill-advised comment. He sensed that the time to deal in jests with his present company was long past, and that he had little choice but to offer up some measure of sincerity or risk losing his only real ally in an increasingly hostile environment. They were nearing the southernmost curve of The Circle now – including Villa Cambria, Hadrhune's abode and the place where Lim had been resting his own head for the last two fortnights – and swallowing a certain measure of his pride Lim threw caution to the winds and seized Hadrhune by the elbow.

"I had no fear for your life, since you were in the doppelganger's care," he admitted, "and knowing that there was nothing I could do to aid you I thought it best to flee. All our lives were at stake, and not just your own, if you recall."

Hadrhune ripped his arm out of Lim's grasp and shadow-walked out of the street in an effort to lose him; Lim sighed and followed along in his wake, keeping pace with him easily in the Realm of Shadow. When they materialized they were standing in the seneschal's private quarters, and Hadrhune was looking positively irate now. "Do not insult my intelligence by presuming to remind me of the dire nature of the situation we just faced! Do not pretend that you trust so much to the doppelganger's abilities, when just days ago you were searching for ways to undermine him! And do not play yourself off as the innocent here, when I know for a fact that you urged the High Prince's sons to leave me to my fate!"

Lim sighed and ran a hand down his face, scrambling for words. Truth be told, he had hoped this admission would never reach Hadrhune's ears – he supposed he had underestimated just how much Lamorak and Clariburnus both detested him. Well, he reasoned, there was nothing he could do about them now – salvaging the arrangement he had with Hadrhune was a priority now. "I did say as much," he confessed, "and I cannot say that I am proud of it – they say you cannot truly measure the worth of a man until he is placed in a crisis, and I cannot say I care much for my own personal worth this day."

"Perhaps you did not hear me before when I told you I had business to attend to," Hadrhune reminded in an icy tone, and Lim cocked his head to one side.

"You are conducting business in your private chambers?" the drow clarified, skeptical.

"My business is no concern of yours," the seneschal insisted, and his tone of voice suggested that they were at an impasse.

Lim weaved his way through the room and sank down into the high-backed desk chair, letting his head fall into his waiting hands; Hadrhune watched his every move with slitted eyes, untrusting but still somehow intrigued. When the drow looked back up after many long minutes of silent contemplation, his expression was bleak. "You deserve far better treatment than what I have offered you these long weeks," he admitted in a self-deprecating tone. "It is true that the High Prince ordered you to attend me while I work to achieve my ultimate goal, but you have given me so much more than simply your loyal service – you have given me your companionship, which I do not hold as dear as I should. Were it not for you, I would be utterly alone in this place – and such dedication should not go unrewarded." He heaved a sigh, looking at once stressed yet resigned, and finished, "So let me reward you."

"That won't be necessary," Hadrhune said dryly, crossing his arms.

Lim sat up a little straighter and fixed the seneschal with an eerily serious gaze. "Let me reward you with the truth, Hadrhune."

"I am not interested in your warped, twisted version of the so-called truth," said Hadrhune crossly, but he spoke a little too quickly and his eyes had sparked with interest; it might take some convincing, but Lim knew he would win.

"Yes you are." The drow-shade laughed long and loud at his unlikely companion's stubbornness – there was nothing more comical than a man who failed to see the humor in anything, and Hadrhune could always be trusted to be that man. "I am no fool. I know that your sovereign is not in the least bit concerned with my personal well being – he and I entered into a business transaction, nothing more. He fulfilled his end of our bargain right away, just as I requested, and now he is eager for me to return the favor. He didn't assign you to my service to ensure that I adjusted with grace and poise to the life of a shade – he did it so that he could keep tabs on me." Noting Hadrhune's swiftly-souring expression, Lim hurried to explain his reasoning. "Not that I blame him, of course! He has been far more accommodating than I could ever have imagined, and I have nothing but gratitude for him. You have been suffering through my jests and my revelry and my conniving nature all this time without complaint, and all because you are hoping to hear something of use to report to your master. So allow me to give you something to report."

Hadrhune stood there, his teeth bared in an awful grimace and his hands clenched into slightly-trembling fists at his sides, and said nothing. Lim settled back in the chair and clasped his hands upon the desk in front of him, shifting from moderately bemused to businesslike in the blink of an eye.

"I will take your lack of protest as a sign that I should continue," Lim observed shrewdly. "Know that all I tell you from this point forward I have not yet shared with a single soul."

The intrigue was simply too strong for Hadrhune, who had spent centuries being privy to all of the Most High's most delicate matters and had found himself suffering perpetual disfavor in the wake of his forbidden liaison with Aveil Arthien. He sat on the corner of his bed, privately wishing he had his familiar darkstaff in his hand and feeling somewhat lost without it, and surveyed the drow with obvious disdain. "I will hear what you have to say, but you should know that it will reach the High Prince's ears if I feel such a thing is necessary."

"Fair enough." Lim propped his elbows upon the smooth wooden surface of the desk and steepled his fingers together, his expression perfectly unreadable. "Over the last several tendays I have been sowing discord among you. I have been deliberately pitting you against one another in order to achieve my own personal ends. This has absolutely nothing to do with the High Prince's agenda, though I can assure you that nothing I do opposes his mandate in any way."

Hadrhune's jaw stiffened and his eyes grew unmistakably cold, but he seemed to be struggling to hear the drow's words through to the end and so swallowed his protests. "Tell me why I should believe a single word you've said since you came here. Tell me why I shouldn't return to the High Prince right this instant and brand you a traitor."

Lim shrugged, hardly concerned with the half-hearted threat. "Because he would never believe you. Your word has lost its credibility since the moment you acted upon your own personal desires, and he no longer values your opinion as he once did. Not to mention that he is so focused on the prospect of delivering Lolth to Shar that he will inherently reject any scenario which may cause him to deviate from that goal. You would be better served keeping the news of my meddling to yourself, for to share it with anyone would only cast your loyalty and your usefulness into further scrutiny."

The logic of Lim's words bound Hadrhune to where he sat as surely as any physical bonds might. Lim had to admit, he took a certain measure of sadistic pleasure in seeing the High Prince's chosen emissary made powerless through words alone. "Then tell me why you feel the need to pit the High Prince's advisors against one another. What do you stand to gain? Need I remind you that we are all allies here?"

"We are all allies _now_ ," the drow corrected, and his voice pitched itself lower and so dangerous that Hadrhune's initial instinct was to recoil. "There is a common enemy that binds us together, but do you truly believe that will be the case for as long as the shadow sustains us? Phendrana has seen the death of Soleil Chemaut in his dreams – what do you think will happen if that comes to pass? Shall I tell you?" Lim paused long enough to ensure that he had his audience's undivided attention, but otherwise did not wait for a verbal response. "High Prince Telamont will issue a formal declaration of war against Menzoberranzan, and though I have no doubts that Thultanthar will find itself victorious in the end there will undoubtedly be heavy casualties. A far more chilling prospect, however, is the dissolution of the hierarchy of the Princes of Shade should our soon-to-be-princess meet an untimely end. First Prince Escanor will never remarry, no matter how much the High Prince might pressure him to do otherwise – Escanor is just _romantic_ like that, isn't he? And what do you think will happen then?"

Hadrhune didn't answer. The blatant horror in his face suggested he was incapable of speech.

"The princes will mutiny," Lim continued, his innate love for chaos sending a thrill of anticipation coursing down his spine. "If Escanor refuses to marry, he willingly chooses never to father legitimate heirs. And if he cannot give the High Prince grandchildren, he forfeits his claim to the throne… a claim that his brothers won't be so quick to give up, I'm sure. And you can bet that the High Prince won't be as… shall we say, _lenient_ … when it comes time for his other sons to choose their wives – no, he will return his line to more traditional ways. He made an exception for Soleil because he has such a special _fondness_ for her, the lost little waif who crept into the palace of great kings and pledged her soul unto a higher power; oh, she might have given up her mortal soul that day, but I promise you she received something far more precious in return – she stole the High Prince's heart, and has been worming her way inside it for years. And of course he could see every facet of her relationship with his eldest son, so there can be no doubt as to how _pure_ her intentions are... but when he loses her…" Lim broke off with a negligent shrug, having no doubt that Hadrhune could guess what would come next; the seneschal continued to stare at him, mystified, struck speechless by horror but to engrossed in Lim's musings to put an end to them. "Well, I know what I would do – I would want my grandchildren to be as pure of blood as is feasibly possible. I would require my remaining sons to take wives of pure-blooded Netherese descent, or of noble birth at least… But do you know, there is one woman of noble birth in our midst already, with a strong legitimate claim to a long-vacant throne. Can you guess who that might be? Have you caught up with me yet, my friend, or shall I spell it out for you?"

"Aveil." Hadrhune's voice was raspy and coarse, as though he had swallowed fire, and Lim settled back into the desk chair looking smug that his companion had reached the correct conclusion.

"Ah, good, you've figured it all out already – yes, Aveil, the only daughter of the last crowned king of the Frostfell." The drow set to rhythmically tapping the fingernails of his left hand upon the surface of the desk, his chin propped upon his right hand, thinking out loud. "Whatever happened to the kingdom of the snow elves when Aveil's father was murdered by his own people? It passed to a steward, didn't it? Not that Aveil couldn't crush those who might oppose her rightful claim to the throne – she is so much stronger now than she was on the day I met her, why, I often mistake her for another person entirely. And when she's Queen of the Frostfell and just as dedicated to the City of Shade as ever, she'll make a fitting Princess of Thultanthar, won't she? But who knows…" Lim broke off with a soft, malevolent chuckle, shifting to the edge of his seat and leaning as near to his companion as the desk would allow when he pitched his voice conspiratorially low and murmured, "…Who she'll end up with? Rivalen, whose eternal devotion to the goddess Shar will pit him ever at odds with her simply for her worship of Mystra? Lamorak, whom I already suspect harbors conflicting infatuations that would result in a childless marriage? Or do you suppose her hand might fall to Aglarel?" Lim laughed aloud at the prospect and at the disgusted look it brought to Hadrhune's face. "I'm sure you'd enjoy that, wouldn't you?"

"Why are you telling me all this?" asked Hadrhune in a tortured voice, his hands coming up to clutch raggedly at his own face, his fingers contorted into claws. "Do you take pleasure in tormenting me so?"

"That is neither here nor there," the drow answered loftily. "I tell you this because I promised to tell you the truth, and now I have – I am certain that this is what will come to pass if death comes for Soleil, as Phendrana has seen it will."

"The doppelganger's visions are not finite," the shadow sorcerer argued, pushing himself off the mattress and pacing the length of the bedchamber from doorway to balcony and back again. "Phendrana, Lamorak, Aveil… they have all been interfering with fate since the moment these dreams began. The course of the future can change."

"It can," Lim agreed, "if only someone is willing to change it." His eyes were upon Hadrhune's face as the seneschal wore a path in the carpet, appraising. " _I_ am willing – nothing would please me more than to keep this future from coming to pass, for if it does you can be certain that the Tanthul Dynasty will eventually crumble. However, Phendrana has also seen _my_ death approaching, as I recall… And I do not think it within my power to preserve both my life and Soleil's."

Hadrhune stopped, his eyes burning within his shadow-swathed face; Lim silently praised the shadow sorcerer for putting the pieces together so quickly. "This is why you have been pitting us against one another since these drow assassins began infiltrating our city," he reasoned. "You wanted to see who you could bend to your will – who would do your bidding."

"No, my friend – I wanted to see who would stand by me when the moment came." Lim vacated the high-backed chair and circled the desk slowly, his every movement unthreatening as though he were approaching a wild, vicious animal; he drew right up to Hadrhune's side and laid one comforting hand upon his shoulder, pleased when his companion did not pull away. "I wanted to know who was dedicated to preserving the Tanthul family, and now I know – there is no one now more desperate to stop this wheel from turning than _you._ "

That was when Hadrhune spoke the words that Lim had most wanted to hear. "Tell me how."

"How?" echoed Lim coyly.

"Tell me how to stop this." So great was the seneschal's revulsion for the future that Lim had envisioned that he practically choked on the words as he spoke them.

Lim cocked his head to one side, curious, and said, "You poor man. You still love her, don't you?"

Hadrhune didn't speak, just stared back at Lim with his eyes filled with hatred and sorrow; Lim squeezed the shoulder beneath his hand in a mocking display that was meant to fill his companion with some sort of misplaced courage.

"Don't you?"

"Enough to help you keep Soleil alive, that this bleak future might somehow be avoided."

It was more acknowledgement than Lim had hoped to receive, and he clapped Hadrhune one last time upon the shoulder before dropping his hand to his side. The shadow sorcerer continued to watch him, his eyes filled with loathing but now also resigned; Lim slipped one hand into his pocket before holding out that pocket's contents to his companion, and when Hadrhune's eyes widened in recognition and understanding the drow knew that all of his careful planning would amount to something after all.

"Obviously this is stolen," Lim told Hadrhune with a scoff, "and so I would ask that you carry it with discretion until such time as you deem its use necessary. As I have said, I am just as dedicated to preserving Soleil's life as you are – however, since my position is just as precarious as hers, I think it best to enlist your help in this. Because you want me to live too, Hadrhune – perhaps more than anything else, though of course I don't expect you to know that just yet. My promise to tear Lolth from her place in the Abyss and cast her at your sovereign's feet wasn't just the ravings of a madman – it was the solemn vow of a man who is more sworn to see his life's mission through to the very end than ever before, no matter the cost. Can I trust you, Hadrhune? Do I have your word that you'll help me?"

Hadrhune's fingers closed over the proffered object and Lim surrendered it gladly, his satisfaction showing through in his devious smile; the seneschal tucked the object into an inner fold of his shroud, close to his heart, and laid his hand over it reassuringly for a moment before facing the drow with grim determination.

"I will help you," he agreed in a lifeless voice. "When the time comes, I will do what I must to ensure this kingdom's survival. This is nothing more than what the High Prince asked of me long ago, when he first took me into his service. I will do my sworn duty as his emissary, and then at last perhaps his faith in me will be restored."

* * *

He wrestled with his own self-loathing, with the inevitable conversation he knew he must sometime initiate, until the quietest hours of the night when it was certain all the other loyal subjects of the High Prince would be fast asleep. Even then he prowled restlessly about his private quarters, grappling with the ravenous, angry beast within him until being confined within four walls was stifling – it made him edgy, made him claustrophobic. He stepped out onto his balcony and breathed deeply in an effort to quench the fire, surveying his father's kingdom disinterestedly as he did so, feeling a little less as though he could call the place home – in succumbing to that other, fouler part of himself, he felt more different and more isolated than ever before. He felt as though he didn't belong, and even worse – that that feeling would plague him for the rest of his life.

The beast clawed at the inside of his chest, craving control; he clenched his hands into fists, his fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palms until he heard the unmistakable _drip_ of droplets of shadowblood as they stained the ground at his feet. Briefly he wondered if he would constantly have to fight his own dark instincts just to function in day to day life, just to remain of sound mind and purpose. He wondered if he would ever be the man he had been before, or if he was doomed now to be two.

And when speculation only made those primal instincts stronger – _conquer, destroy, kill_ – he leapt over the balcony guardrail and landed soundlessly upon the cobblestoned lane below, moving with conviction though his mind was clouded with doubt.

He had almost killed her. He owed her an apology. He owed her more than that – she deserved an explanation.

 _Rip. Tear. Slaughter._

He walked faster, his footsteps nearing a sprint.

 _Annihilate_.

He ran.

One explanation, that was all – would he find some relief in the knowledge that one other soul existed who knew the truth? Or would he feel infinitely worse knowing that he had divulged a secret that by all rights had never been his to reveal?

He stood beneath the balcony at the other end of The Circle, having no knowledge of just how he had arrived there so quickly, and knew that he was willing to take the risk. He invoked the powers bound into the obsidian wristband he wore and levitated up to the second floor, easily bypassing the railing and touching down noiselessly upon the balcony. He put his hand up to the heavy velvet curtain that had been drawn for privacy, his instincts warring with his common sense, rage and terror and desperation thrumming in his veins.

He hesitated.

Though Aveil had been living in the guest bedchamber within Villa Hara since Lim Tal'eyve had relinquished her soul this night she had pleaded with the High Prince for absolute privacy, he knew; Soleil had graciously volunteered her own private quarters for the Sceptrana's use and gone to Villa Dusari to be with Escanor, though of course the wedding was now just two days away. He cupped his free hand before him, envisioning grains of sand slipping futilely through his fingers. There was no stopping the passage of time – indeed, agonizing over what was to come only made it slow, which in his opinion was far worse. He needed to be proactive now, needed to keep the wheel turning – Aveil deserved to know just what she had faced earlier that day, and he needed relief and acceptance.

Would he find them here? He knew already that if he didn't, those things would surely not exist anywhere.

He parted the curtain a few inches and slipped inside, the blissful darkness of the room's interior soothing to him. The waning moon's rays filtered feebly through the perpetual veil of shadows that enshrouded the City of Shade but even that was plenty for him to see by, and his eyes adjusted quickly. She was fast asleep on the side of the bed nearest the balcony, her dark hair spilling over the pillow like ink, her face porcelain in the faint silver moonlight. He stood there for an amount of time for which there was no measure, heat in his vision, electricity in his veins, and struggled for control.

 _Flesh. Blood. Devour._

He slid back a half step, his feet leaden. He could feel control slipping away, and knew that he had made a grave mistake in coming here.

 _Consume._

His skin was on fire. A growl of denial ripped through his tightly-clenched teeth, that sound the only thing that kept him clinging desperately to his very last shred of self-control.

The sound was loud enough to wake her. She turned her head a fraction, her violet eyes luminous even in the near-darkness, and he could hear her breath catch in her throat. Even from a distance he could hear the gentle rushing of blood as it circulated throughout her body, and a thin shaft of moonlight illuminated the faint pulsing of her carotid artery beneath her supple, wintry skin. Sensation flooded his senses, heightening every single stimulus, smothering what remained of logic and reason.

Aveil watched, frozen with fear, as Aglarel's eyes darkened from cold silver to boiling crimson. Her dread betrayed her, and her heartbeat quickened until it resembled the beating of a hummingbird's wings.

Aglarel dropped into a predator's crouch and lurched forward a step, and something punctured the bottom of his boot and bit into his flesh. A blinding pain shot up his leg, whiting out his vision, boiling his blood, and he buckled for the ground as seizures wracked his body.

Aveil moved cautiously but full of purpose, her every action carefully measured so as not to seem threatening; first she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, and taking her feet she padded to the desk and lit a candle. Even that small flame was enough to bathe the entire room in soft golden light, including the handful of enchanted caltrops she had scattered upon the floor between the bed and the balcony, their hungry little needles shining brightly with holy magic. She moved on tiptoes over the treacherous stretch of carpet, careful not to skewer her own feet as she went, and sinking down to the place where Aglarel lay gasping and writhing in agony she swept the other caltrops aside and sat cross-legged beside him.

Time passed with excruciating slowness, with nothing but Aglarel's soft hisses of pain to mark its progression. Aveil watched his face contort over and over with anguish as the holy magic burned through his body like liquid fire, hating herself, hating him; twice she almost cast a healing remedy upon him to ease his suffering but resisted, knowing that in his agony he would likely find himself again.

Eventually his body stilled and his ragged breathing grew more even, and when he managed to open his eyes they were the cool color of backlit moonstone again. Aveil sighed in relief and stretched out one hand toward him, her fingertips millimeters from his face, but Aglarel recoiled.

"No," he panted, the syllable barely distinguishable through his clenched teeth. "Not in control… not _myself_."

"Relax," she told him in a soft voice. "Rest. You have nothing to fear." She pressed her fingertips lightly to his forehead, and her icy touch sapped the heat out of his veins. He blinked, his vision refocusing, the last of the holy magic fading from his body, and suddenly felt more like himself than he had since he had left the High Prince's audience chamber to deliver his sovereign's wrath unto the drow conjurer. With a little self-congratulating smirk Aveil reached down and plucked the caltrop from the sole of his foot, offering the cruel little item to him wordlessly; Aglarel allowed her to tip it into his hand, careful not to let its nasty little needles puncture his skin again, and inspected the glowing needle-tips with a strange mixture of disgust and awe.

"Holy magic," he observed, his voice rough and weak.

"Holy magic," she confirmed, and though her voice was inflectionless and gave nothing away there was a deep understanding within her eyes that made Aglarel feel foolish indeed. It was terrifying at first, the knowledge that she had uncovered the truth of his secret all on her own, but the terror passed quickly to be replaced by the acute relief he had so desperately been hoping to find. She knew. He hadn't needed to say a word – she had figured it out all on her own.

"Clever girl," he congratulated her, allowing the tension to ease fully out of his muscles, and when he leaned his feverish head into her unnaturally cool fingertips Aveil pressed her palm flat against his clammy forehead. "It seems that underestimating you has become hazardous to my health."

"It was just a lesser holy magic spell," Aveil told him dismissively, rolling her eyes, and the levity was unexpected enough that Aglarel actually barked out a single harsh, tired laugh. "Hardly enough to fell an imp, yet here you are writhing around on the floor as though you might die. Some devil you are."

"Indeed," Aglarel agreed thickly, feeling abruptly exhausted, and he let his eyes fall closed. "So you know. Did the High Prince tell you?"

"No – quite the contrary, the High Prince is under the impression that I have repressed most of the memories I have regarding that awful incident, and that I can recall nothing regarding how I escaped the drow's hellhounds or how the ballroom was set ablaze." Aglarel opened his eyes to regard her, taking note of her pride with a flicker of admiration. "I must admit, I was very convincing."

"So it would seem. And how did you arrive at this conclusion?"

Aveil scoffed, momentarily offended by the insinuation. "I have lived only a fraction of the years you have, yet I have seen many things, Prince. Truth be told your behavior today did not alert me to the truth of your heritage at all – it merely confirmed suspicions I've been harboring for some time now."

That brought a frown to Aglarel's face – his brow furrowed beneath her hand. "For how long?"

She tipped her head back as she studied the shadows slanting across the ceiling, remembering; at length she admitted, "Nearly a lunar cycle now – since we fought Brennus and Hadrhune in the Hall of the Arts Martial, and Hadrhune's daylight spell had no effect on you. Your theatrics that day were impressive, of course, but not good enough to dispel my suspicions. When you rematerialized just minutes later looking as though nothing at all had happened, I began to wonder…" Aveil's voice trailed off uncertainly then, watching his face with avid interest, and he knew that she was awaiting a reprimand. For his part, Aglarel had to resist the urge to laugh. His most precious secret, the one thing he had been commanded never to reveal, and this mortal had uncovered it through nothing but keen observation. Silently he chastised his own brothers for not paying closer attention – as she had pointed out, all the clues were there.

"Still," he protested, "I must ask you – "

"'Never to reveal the truth of my heritage to anyone'," Aveil cut in, her voice pitched low in a decent impression of him, and Aglarel snickered. "Consider your secret safe – I value my own life, as well as the trust of the High Prince, far too much to ever dream of compromising your identity. Rest assured, should anyone else ever become wise to what you truly are, they will not have come by such information from me."

At last Aglarel felt strong enough to sit up, and managed to do so with no help from her; she rocked back onto her knees, dropping her hand to her side and watching as he continued to roll the wicked little caltrop over in his hand. "This was inspired," he praised her, dropping the tool into her hand and clambering to his feet with only a little difficulty. "But how did you know I would come?"

Aveil shrugged her shoulders, her teeth worrying her bottom lip, and said, "I know you."

She really did, he realized with a start; he had been so busy spreading himself thin, seeing to the High Prince's business and outsmarting Lim Tal'eyve and keeping up with Phendrana's strange prophetic dreams and struggling to keep her at arm's length that he hadn't even noticed how close she had really become. It was a little unsettling, he privately admitted, but oddly liberating too. He tried to remind himself that deceit and manipulation were like art forms to Aveil Arthien, the woman who had once cowed the Archmage of the Citadel of Assassins, but doing so only served to remind him just how completely she had changed. Aveil was no longer the same woman she had once been; he knew that much, as surely as he knew that she would never breathe a word of his lineage to anyone.

"It's fortunate that you laid some… preventative measures," Aglarel admitted at length, his eyes lingering upon the dozen caltrops she had swept aside. "When I came upon you, I was lost."

"I have no doubt that you'll learn to balance the calculating nature of the Netherese with the instinctual desires of the Abyssal dweller," said Aveil, and her voice was so assuring that Aglarel stared. "That isn't to say it won't be difficult for you at first, or that you will be able to master these… _urges_ … right away, but I'm sure you will forge a more harmonious blend of the two with time." She dropped her gaze to the floor, a flash of white at the corner of her mouth suggesting that her teeth were working away at the flesh of her bottom lip again; for the first time Aglarel noticed what she was wearing, a sleeveless nightgown with an empire waist of pale blue silk that flowed down her body like rain. "I have one question."

"I will answer." He had held her life in his hand just hours ago – surely he owed her that much?

"Your blood is your blood, the same now as it was the moment you were brought into this world; that being said, you have had these whisperings in the back of your mind for centuries. You have balanced reason and desire as easily as you have continued to draw breath – why now do you struggle for control?"

Aglarel knew the answer. "Today was the first day I have ever sought that other side of me willingly, allowed it to govern my thoughts and my movements, sought purpose within its darkness. I suppose that now that I have had a taste of what I am capable of, a part of me will always yearn to succumb to its clutches again."

Aveil's eyes were burning with ill-advised curiosity. "What was it… like?"

Aglarel allowed his thoughts to travel back without even a thought for the consequences; he remembered the raw, unbridled power that had coursed through his veins, burning away all of his uncertainties, leaving him feeling as though he was possessed of limitless potential. He remembered the heat roiling within his very core, filling him with flames, threatening always to consume him. He remembered how easy it had been to tear the arm from the drow's body, to fill the room with molten flame, to let everything spiral out of control.

He remembered with startling clarity how that searing hatred had filled him with ecstasy.

 _Burn._

"It was hell," he told her simply, hardly eager to relive the event any further, and a small shudder ripped through him before he was able to fully root himself to the present and keep the shadow of those urges at bay. Aveil watched him, intrigue warring with common sense, and chose not to press the issue.

Aglarel turned and slipped soundlessly through the gap in the curtain, suddenly craving the feeling of cool, fresh air against his feverish skin; Aveil followed along in his wake patiently, afraid that if she interrupted his musings things might turn ill for her. They stood at the guardrail in a kind of companionable silence; beyond the thick clouds of shadow, the sky was gray with the approaching dawn. "I should go," Aglarel said through gritted teeth, hating himself. "For every moment that I stay here, you are in danger. I am just as much an enemy now as any drow that might come here."

"You know that isn't true," Aveil chastised him gently. "You can conquer what you feel. I know you can."

Aglarel avoided her eyes, wishing for all the world that he had never left his villa earlier that night – what had he been thinking, to test his feeble grip of self-control on the one person least able to fight him off if such a thing became necessary? "Your trust and your confidence are two things I do not deserve."

He mounted the rail and leapt, too consumed by his own dark thoughts to offer her a proper farewell; she called after him as he was descending toward the ground, but her words were lost within the roaring in his ears.

 _Obliterate_.

His fingers delved deep into his pocket and curled around the caltrop he had taken from Aveil's room, and the voice quieted.

* * *

"Phendrana? Are you listening?"

The doppelganger started and jerked awake; he hadn't realized he'd been balancing precariously on the precipice between wakefulness and dreams, but he was nothing but grateful for the intrusion. His thoughts were cloaked in a murky fog, all but the most acute of memories lost within that impenetrable haze. He would never admit it aloud, but he felt certain that to succumb to unconsciousness for any period of time would be to cross the last threshold from sanity into madness. The thought that he was losing his grip on any sort of mental fortitude was nothing short of terrifying.

Forcing his eyes open he sat up a little straighter – he had been propped up on a mound of pillows in bed, his first and greatest mistake, he knew – and focused his gaze on Third Prince Lamorak, who was sitting in his familiar place behind the doppelganger's desk surrounded by stacks of books and sheaves of parchment. His gaze was searching and professional, something Phendrana had grown accustomed to from their frequent meetings together, but there was an undercurrent of fear and desperation in his expression that only served to intensity the anxiety that Phendrana felt. Briefly he wondered if his own terror was showing through on his face – he couldn't imagine what expression he was wearing, only that the set of his own face felt unfamiliar to him. Lamorak came forward an inch or two in his seat, his attention on Phendrana now borderline rapturous.

Phendrana sighed and rearranged the pillows behind him before relaxing back again; the headboard bit uncomfortably into his shoulder blades, and it was sure to keep him awake for a little while longer. "I am listening. I apologize. I'm only tired."

"Did you hear what I said?" Lamorak's voice was an odd combination of a parental-like reprove and genuine concern; it grated on Phendrana's nerves, made him worry.

There was no point in lying; Lamorak had stressed the importance of disclosing the entire truth of his condition, and so Phendrana took him at his word when he sighed and said, "I heard what you said, but I've already forgotten the question."

Lamorak dropped his quill, and something in his eyes froze and died; Phendrana recoiled from the dull lifelessness he glimpsed there, suddenly very afraid of what his honesty might cost him. The Determinist Prime mastered himself quickly, though, retrieving his quill and setting it to parchment with a darkly determined look. "Pay it no mind – I will repeat the question. I said, do you remember how you came by the ring?"

Phendrana opened his hand, blinking down at the mithral band that was exuding its curious warm radiance against his palm. He had had the presence of mind to remove it when the danger had passed and had hidden it in one of his pockets, but had divulged its existence to Lamorak upon the prince's second visit for the prince seemed trustworthy enough; the memories Phendrana had of him seemed recent, and he remembered them with great fondness. Still, he hoped that Lamorak would choose not to disclose the ring's existence to anyone else – he couldn't explain why, but he felt certain he shouldn't allow knowledge of it to become public. "I picked it up off the ground… It was just lying there."

"Lying where?" Lamorak was very detail-oriented, something that Phendrana felt certain he had once appreciated very much about the other man but now was an inconvenience to him – recalling details had about the same simplicity as trying to catch lightning in a bottle.

"Next to…" Phendrana cast his mind around frantically, certain the name was known to him, pleased when he was able to recall it. "Hadrhune. Next to Hadrhune."

Lamorak's eyes were on his face, probing; it was clear in his expression that Phendrana's hesitation hadn't escaped his notice. He continued his inquiries, pressing for information. "Do you think perhaps Hadrhune may have dropped it?"

"I don't know." Phendrana's voice was sullen.

"You don't know," Lamorak echoed disdainfully, "or you don't care?"

The doppelganger's eyes snapped back onto the prince, black with rage at the insinuation, but now that the confrontation had been established he found he wanted nothing more than to engage in it. "You are right – I _don't_ care. I don't want to continuously flounder about in my half-formed memories for the details of something so obviously insignificant. I'm not in the least bit interested in your questions. I want to sleep." The truth of his own words struck him suddenly and he added, "I want to give up."

Lamorak vacated the desk chair and strode toward him, his facial expression and his posture hinting at his own anger, and Phendrana pressed himself back into the headboard as though hoping he could simply melt into the wood and disappear; the prince knelt at his bedside and seized one of his hands in both his own, shoving his face so close to Phendrana's that the doppelganger couldn't possibly look anywhere else but at him. His hands were like ice, and with a fresh wave of guilt Phendrana recalled just how close to death Lamorak had been earlier that day.

"Listen to me," Lamorak growled, his voice akin to a plea. "You _can't_ give up, Phendrana."

"Why?" Phendrana heard the whine in his own voice and was immediately disgusted – he didn't want to argue for argument's sake, he genuinely wanted an explanation. He wanted to know what was so important that he should stick around for, because for the life of him he simply couldn't remember what he needed to do. "Why do I need to be here? What use could you and your family possibly have for a mentally-unstable doppelganger?"

"You have a duty to the Tanthul family," Lamorak reminded him impatiently. "You swore an oath to my father. To my brothers. To me."

"I doubt very much that such a powerful and prestigious family will require anything of me when I cease to remember so much as my own name," Phendrana shot back, and he regretted the words the moment they had been uttered. The prospect of forgetting everything frightened him beyond words, and it reawakened the lifelessness in Lamorak's eyes.

Lamorak was shaking his head numbly, as though Phendrana's words were beyond his comprehension. "You have a duty," he repeated in a hollow, monotonous voice. "You swore."

" _Who cares_?!" shrieked Phendrana in a sudden fit of hysteria, his voice ripping through two octaves as he screamed, and Lamorak snatched his hands back so suddenly and unexpectedly that the doppelganger actually flinched.

" _I care_!" the Third Prince bellowed. "But if you are content to continue wallowing in your own self-pity, and you truly believe that your condition is irreparable, and you would prefer to consider yourself beyond all aid, then by all means – _sleep_! _Surrender_! But I refuse to be a part of it, because the Phendrana I know would never willingly admit defeat! You may have given up on yourself, but you can rest assured that I will never give up on you!"

The silence that followed this outburst was somehow just as loud as the Third Prince's tirade. They stared back at one another for an indiscernible period of time, Lamorak's face a mask of fury and the doppelganger's expression one of slow realization, and Phendrana sensed that perhaps they were hovering on the cusp of something that had nothing at all to do with the High Prince's agenda.

The timid knock upon the closed door seemed thunderous as it shattered the silence; Lamorak whipped his head to one side and glared at the door as though it had offended him, his eyes frosty. "What?"

Poor Lux poked his head through the crack in the door, cowering like a pet that had been scolded by its master. "Forgive my intrusion… Lord Phendrana has a visitor."

"No visitors," barked the Third Prince, shifting his glare back to Phendrana and crossing his arms as though silently daring the doppelganger to dispute the point. Phendrana wisely held his tongue.

"Prince… I…" Lux slunk into and gently pushed the door shut behind himself, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed as he attempted to make himself appear as unassuming as possible. "I'm afraid he's insisting, and I haven't the authority to dismiss him."

Lamorak cursed beneath his breath – typically he was so composed in his conduct that Phendrana could only stare – and turned on his heel, storming for the door; Lux hastened to open it for him, though whoever it was that had come to call was not visible from where Phendrana sat and he hadn't the first clue who it might be. Lamorak paused for a fraction of a second, his hand upon the doorknob and his eyes like steel, before exiting and slamming the door shut behind him. Lux stood awkwardly by the little-used dining table, his eyes upon Phendrana brimming with pity, and then raised voices reached their ears from the hallway.

" _What the hell are you doing here?! Get out!"_

" _I live here. I think if anyone should be asked to leave, it's you."_

" _Phendrana isn't well, and he needs rest if he is to recover. Even if he was in perfect health and sound of mind I would_ never _allow you to inflict your company upon him!"_

" _He needs to hear what I have to say, and if you know what's good for you you'll stand aside."_

" _Oh, that's adorable – are you threatening me, little brother? I'm not going to continue to let you have your way – he's been barely more than a hollow shell of a man since you left him, and all of a sudden you expect to just walk back into his life?! If you hurt him one more time I swear I'll – "_

" _Look who's threatening who now…I don't need to be reminded of the consequences of my own actions. Believe it or not, I'm here to remedy them if I can. But I can't do any of that if you don't get out of my way."_

"Lux," Phendrana called to the Shadovar boy softly, for his squire seemed near tears over the confrontation brewing just outside the door. "Who is Prince Lamorak talking to?"

The door was forced open, rebounding off its hinges and narrowly missing Lux; Lamorak was standing there with one hand braced against the doorframe as though trying to bar someone else's admittance, his posture hostile and his face livid, and standing barely inches behind him was Twelfth Prince Brennus. At least, Phendrana thought he recognized him – the youngest prince appeared so gaunt and frail to the doppelganger's eyes that he supposed Lamorak's comment about appearing as little more than a hollow shell of a man might aptly describe them both. It was a little frightening how each memory he had of Brennus – even the ones that made him breathless with fear or queasy with sorrow – felt as though it had been branded into his mind.

Brennus slouched to one side a little, bracing his shoulder against the wall, and with a start Phendrana realized that the wall was the only thing keeping the loremaster from collapsing to the floor; his eyes were the dull color of rusted metal, and his breathing came in shallow gasps. Despite Brennus's obvious infirmity Lamorak stood firmly between him and the doppelganger like a sentinel, barring access to the bedchamber with that same steely glint in his eye, and Phendrana couldn't help the sudden wash of gratitude he felt at the sight.

"Phendrana – " Brennus's voice was a breathy sigh, a sound that someone might utter on the precipice between sleep and wakefulness, and the familiarity was such that even that single word almost brought Phendrana to his knees.

"No," Lamorak interrupted, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "You are in no condition to be out of bed, and Phendrana is hardly in a state of mind to receive visitors."

"Let him in." It was a handful of seconds before Phendrana was able to recognize his own voice; it was cold and detached and remorseless, and so unlike him that it sounded as though a stranger had spoken. "I want to hear what he has to say."

Lamorak's eyes snapped up and fixed Phendrana with a look that was impossible for even the ever-astute doppelganger to identify. Was it anger? Was it despair? Was it betrayal? Before Phendrana could classify the expression the Third Prince had rearranged his features into his characteristic clinical, businesslike demeanor, saying "You must do as you will", and then he had whisked out the door and out of sight. Lux let out a soft undignified noise that might have been a squeak of apprehension before rushing after him, and then Phendrana and Brennus were alone.

"So," Phendrana managed to say through gritted teeth, that singular syllable garbled by unmistakable rage; hostility was rolling off of him in waves, so strong that his hands were shaking at his sides. "The high and mighty Twelfth Prince of Shade has descended from his lofty perch to mingle with the common folk. To what do I owe this unprecedented honor?"

"Phendrana," the loremaster began tiredly, "I – "

"Let me guess," the doppelganger overrode him, now feeling as though he had become the autopilot for his fury. "You've grown bored of your concubine again? You're in the market for less conventional fare? You have a fondness for breaking and neglecting your toys?"

A flicker of some deep emotional trauma flashed in the depths of Brennus's tired, vacant gaze, bringing Phendrana up short. He recognized that haunted expression – it was one he had been glimpsing in the mirror for nearly three lunar cycles now.

Brennus mastered himself with some difficulty – it seemed that masking his own emotional excesses was somewhat taxing on him. "I won't attempt to refute your remarks," he conceded gracefully. "I cannot say that they are untrue, nor can I say that I do not deserve them."

"How _big_ of you," scoffed Phendrana, crossing his arms. "Did you come all the way here just to tell me that? Did you walk a grueling _thirty feet down the hall_ , after pretending that I _don't exist_ for _three months_ , just to tell me that _I'm right_?! Well let me tell _you_ something, Prince – had you thought on any level that you would be so displeased with the man I would become when I took on the shadow, I think instead of saving me that day you _should have let me die_."

There was no protective veil of shadows enshrouding the youngest prince, and his skin was a sickly pale gray color and still faintly translucent; beneath his semi-transparent flesh Phendrana could see his shadow orb pulsing feebly as though sustaining his life was a struggle, yet at the doppelganger's bold proclamation the organ stuttered and skipped a beat before resuming its sluggish pace. Brennus uttered a little gasp of discomfort before slouching into the dining chair nearest the door and there he sat, oddly still for quite some time, his eyes closed and his breathing slight. Phendrana's anger kept him from approaching out of concern – surely the loremaster had known what awaited him in coming here?

"Leaving you to die was never an option for me," Brennus gasped out, one skeletal hand clutching his chest as he labored for breath. "I knew the fate that awaited me even before I changed you - clearly that knowledge wasn't enough to stop me. The consequences I knew I would face could never have outweighed how I might have felt knowing I had let you perish."

Phendrana mulled these words over in his mind, his eyes upon Brennus filled with skepticism, trying to recall the Twelfth Prince suffering any sort of reprimand upon their return from Castle Tethyr but remembering nothing. "Consequences? No one suffered but _me_ – and considering I had no choice in the matter of my own mortality, I must say I find that unfair. I was confined to my own room often for days at a time, with no one but Lux and the occasional visit from Prince Lamorak to break the tedium. I was dismissed from all matters of council, despite the fact that I have never served the High Prince with anything but diligence and loyalty. I was forced to listen to the disheartening speculation that my mind was beyond repair and face up to the possibility that I might never be fit to serve again. And when I was finally permitted to leave my isolation I was accused of breaking centuries-old traditions and threatening your way of life. And what did I do but lay there dying, powerless but to accept something from you that I never wanted for myself?"

At last a spark of real anger flared to life in Brennus's otherwise emotionless eyes and he sat up a little straighter. "The matter of your mortality had already been decided, Phendrana. You knew the High Prince would change you. Do not presume to tell me that you never desired the shadow when we all know you had agreed to the terms."

"I wanted the shadow!" Phendrana bellowed, stomping one foot to accentuate his point. "But not from _you_!"

"Because you knew what such a thing would cost me," Brennus pointed out diplomatically, his voice carrying a note of smugness that suggested the doppelganger had proved his point after all. "And do you really think that I wasn't punished for my decisions? That the High Prince simply allowed me to slight what may be the most sacred of our traditions? That I have not suffered, as you have suffered?"

"You are alive and whole," Phendrana observed, but his voice lacked its earlier conviction now and he felt far less certain than he had. "You sit on the council. The High Prince hears your voice."

That was when Brennus smiled, but it contorted his face in a way that was painful for Phendrana to watch; it was rueful and hopeless and without joy, and the mindmaster took absolutely no pleasure in the Twelfth Prince's anguish. "He does _now_ ," Brennus corrected him, "because he hardly has a choice in the matter – the Twelve Princes of Shade must maintain a united front in the face of this crisis we now face. But I am certain when the threat presented by the drow has been extinguished I will be cast off the council again – the High Prince's ire has hardly abated, and I suspect it will not for quite some time."

Phendrana gazed down upon the loremaster with curiosity now, unable to recall just when his feet had carried him across the room to stand at the opposite end of the dining table. Reaching down he drew out a chair before settling into it, and when he was situated he poured two glasses of water from the pitcher in the center of the table. When he slid one toward Brennus, the youngest prince took it in hand immediately and drank as though he hadn't in days, so the doppelganger filled it for him a second time. And when the loremaster seemed a little more comfortable Phendrana leaned toward him, his arms folded upon the table's surface, and said, "Tell me what happened to you. Tell me everything, and tell me the truth. I deserve to know – even you cannot deny that."

Brennus didn't answer right away, merely set to tracing the rim of his glass with the tip of one index finger as though lost in thought; Phendrana worked to master his swiftly-thinning patience, doing his best to remember that while this confrontation was certainly long overdue there was no denying the frailty of the man sitting across from him. At length the Twelfth Prince relaxed back in his chair and fixed Phendrana with the full weight of his desolate gaze and said the last thing the doppelganger had been expecting to hear. "Very well. I will not deny you anymore, no matter what it might cost me.

"My punishment came the night we returned from Castle Tethyr, the moment you left the High Prince's audience chamber; let us say that the High Prince was less than pleased with the news that not only had I performed such a sacred ritual without his blessing or supervision, but that there seemed to be side effects as a result of my snap decisions. He… broke my body in ways I wish I could forget." Brennus broke off and shuddered at some memory, but he didn't allow himself to dwell on it for long. "He wanted to dispose of you, convinced that your new mind's flaws would far outweigh its uses, but I argued. I refused to believe that after all of your trials your mind would come out _weaker_ than before. My ill-advised persistence rewarded me in the end – he agreed that your life should be spared, and that your mind's capabilities be further analyzed before he passed any further judgment. He even agreed to spare me, a kindness I neither expected nor felt I deserved. Then he told me that our lives would be spared only if I renounced you utterly, and I finally understood the severity of his sentence - I would live, but with every second of my life I would wish I was dead. Still, what could I do but agree? My life was not the only one at stake, a fact the High Prince knew I would never overlook. I obeyed, for your sake. More than anything else, I wanted you to live.

"When you came to my door later that night and begged for admittance, then an explanation, and then for just a moment of my time, I was devastated. I had assumed the High Prince would share my sentence with you – why wouldn't he, when we were both so obviously affected by it? Then it occurred to me that your lack of knowledge on the matter was simply another component of my punishment – that in keeping you uninformed, the High Prince would be assured of my compliance. Still I obeyed. It meant listening to your cries, your pleas, your curses and your condemnations, but I accepted them. I deserved them. I had made all the wrong decisions, and those decisions benefitted no one. I knew you would hate me, but I tried to take heart in the fact that being the recipient of your rage was still far better than having your death on my hands.

"In a demented sort of way I came to look forward to your nightly pleas for attention," Brennus continued with a self-deprecating shake of his head. "They were the only assurance I had that the High Prince was upholding his end of our arrangement, and my only interaction with the world that lived on outside my door. The first night that came and went without the sound of your voice was disheartening, but not unexpected. I knew what you were thinking, for I had glimpsed your mind on a precious few occasions. I knew that you were convinced I had abandoned you - given my silence, I could hardly blame you for that. You visited my door less and less, and then one day you simply stopped coming at all."

Phendrana knew he was staring, but he simply couldn't find it within himself to look away; he wanted to speak up, to apologize for some of the deeply hurtful things he had said in his ignorance, but the words stuck in his throat. Somewhere deep within his chest his shadow orb contracted painfully. Brennus had played his part well – so well, in fact, that Phendrana had renounced him in the end. Guilt clutched at him then, impulsive and strong – what a horrible and faithless man he had been, to turn his back on Brennus when the loremaster had never given up on him.

"The only boon that came of my prolonged isolation was the _time_ ; I had all the time I could possibly want and more, but how to spend it? I still clung to the hope that one day I would be permitted to pass beyond the walls of my home, and I knew that if that ever came to pass I would want to be armed with all the knowledge I could gather. Study became my life's purpose, the only thing that kept me from surrendering to my despair – I took to visiting our private library in the small hours of the night, so as to ensure I would never cross your path and give the High Prince reason to reconsider our bargain, and sleeping during the day. When the night came and I could be certain that no one would disturb my studies, I accumulated my knowledge.

"I started with psionics – something I had always been avidly interested in but never actively pursued. The reason I chose this area of study first was simple, really – I needed at least a basic knowledge of what was happening in the High Prince's court, and a vague understanding of your mental state. Fortunately this portion of my study took very little time – I was able to master telepathy in just a week's time, and with that skill at my disposal I began intruding upon the surface thoughts of others. It was a tedious process – I was possessed of neither your mind's latent talents nor your patience – and there were many occasions when my stubbornness forced me to sacrifice discretion for persistence. Lux was my preferred target at first, for it was clear that you were close to the boy and trusted him utterly, but after the first few weeks I found his knowledge lacking.

"Your increased contact with Lamorak I found both difficult to come by and far more preferable – these conversations were centered around you and your condition, something I needed a better understanding of before I could proceed with my studies. I had no choice but to delve deeper into the art of psionics, and to push my own mind beyond its limits – your sessions took place further away and the thoughts I targeted were far more closely guarded. I needed range and increased mental fortitude, and I knew one mistake would cost me everything. It was a month before I even dared to attempt to glean anything from Lamorak's mind, for psionics was something he had dabbled in recreationally before and I knew he would make a formidable target.

"With carefully measured mental intrusions I was able to gather several important pieces of information – your mental abilities had grown exponentially since your transformation, and you were afflicted with unsettling reoccurring dreams. The increase in your mental prowess I understood – hadn't we anticipated as much? – but as for the dreams I found myself facing more speculation. I knew what Lamorak thought, of course – that the dreams were one of the side effects the High Prince was certain you would have, a by-product of a poorly-executed transformation, further proof that your mind was beyond repair - but I clung to my hope. There was another explanation, a _correct_ explanation. I simply had to work harder to find it."

Phendrana watched, mesmerized, as Brennus paused long enough to take another gulp of water. It was clear just in observing him that talking was doing wonders for his immediate health; his breathing seemed more regulated, coming still in shallow inhales but not laboriously, and his flesh was opaque again beneath his loremaster's robes. The doppelganger looked a little more closely, frowning, realizing for the first time that the sleeves of the robe were more voluminous than he remembered and the Twelfth Prince's lithe figure was all but lost in the folds of the fabric - he was thinner, far too thin to be considered healthy for his stature, and with a jolt of real concern Phendrana realized this had nothing at all to do with the ordeal they had all faced today.

"So when Lamorak came to summon me, I had a far more comprehensive knowledge of the situation than I should have on account of my new understanding of psionics. I knew that in your dreams you had glimpsed the death of the High Prince, and I knew that I would only be reinstated to my position on the council if these events actually came to pass. Unfortunately I had not been nearly as stealthy in my mental intrusions as I had originally hoped – Lamorak had been wise to my presence since my very first attempt, and told me as much when he came to collect me. I panicked. I knew what that would mean – the moment the High Prince discovered I had been meddling in affairs I was forbidden to be a part of he would rend my shadow orb, and likely do the same to you. I begged my brother for news. I told him everything – what could it hurt now, when he was already wise to the only secret I had wanted to conceal? But I was immensely fortunate – Lamorak shared my views where your dreams, as well as your mind, were concerned, and reluctantly agreed not to share my goings-on with the High Prince. He was also of the opinion that your dreams were not a side-effect of your transformation but a _gift_ , something that your mind had developed out of sheer brilliance, something that if interpreted properly could aid us in saving many lives. I was relieved, to say the least - Lamorak agreed to allow me access to his mind on occasion, but cautioned me not to interfere for reasons that were already known to me. I was happy to accept. I never imagined I would find myself in a position where physically intervening on anyone's behalf was a necessity… I was wrong.

"Reading Lamorak's thoughts became easier as he was willing to lower his mental defenses when he felt me probing for information – that, coupled with the fact that I was now allowed limited access to select locations outside my home, meant that gathering information and staying well informed was far easier than it had been in my exile. The knowledge that there was a drow coming for you, someone with abilities more closely akin to yours than anyone else I had ever come into contact with, was unsettling, but I hoped you would take the appropriate steps to safeguard yourself against such an attempt. With the assurance that you had a dependable network of allies helping you against the drow – Lamorak, Aglarel, and Aveil – I immersed myself in further study of your mind, hoping I would stumble across something that could shed more light on your prophetic dreams.

"I heard commotion in the hallway the day the drow came and couldn't keep myself from investigating; Lamorak had come to call on you and was distraught to find you missing. Lux was able to give him a general time frame of when you had departed for the palace grounds, and I was able to intercept him before he followed after you… Lamorak was highly opposed to my involvement, but I insisted on accompanying him. I knew that my meager understanding of psionics would be of little help against a drow with a strong latent talent for such abilities, but I didn't care. I was too involved already – I always had been."

"It was you," Phendrana interrupted in a barely audible voice, his mouth slightly agape with wonder and his eyes wide. He remembered that day vividly – the pain inflicted upon his mind was like nothing he had ever experienced, and he knew he wouldn't likely forget it anytime soon. "I knew it wasn't Lamorak who pushed the drow out of my mind that day. It was you. _You were with him_."

Brennus allowed himself an indulgent little chuckle, the sound hollow, the corners of his mouth twitching as though the expression was unfamiliar to him. "Yes. It was me – though I can hardly explain how I saved you that day. When we came upon you the drow was so focused on crushing your mind that he didn't even sense our presence, and you were so delirious with the pain that it took barely any effort to filter into your mind… And then…"

"You pushed him out of my mind," Phendrana supplied, confused by the loremaster's hesitation, and Brennus actually snorted.

"No, _you_ pushed him out of your mind, Phendrana, make no mistake of that – on the defensive end I helped very little, for the moment I told you what to do to expel him you had already done it! But the second I could no longer sense him within your mind and Lamorak was helping you to safety, I was filled with such rage…" Brennus's gaze was no longer upon Phendrana and his expression was vacant, as though he was glimpsing something the doppelganger couldn't see. "I crushed him utterly. It felt almost effortless. And then I had no choice but to flee, and hope that there was nothing left behind to implicate my involvement… After that I was more careful. I shut myself away and re-devoted myself to my studies. I knew that if I was that careless again the High Prince would catch wind of what I had been up to, and I knew I couldn't risk that until I had gathered all the information I required."

"I do not understand," the mindmaster broke in again, his brow furrowed as he considered. "What were you hoping to accomplish?"

Brennus blinked, taken aback. By now his skin was the dark shade of charcoal, and the thinnest veil of black mist could be seen floating around his body. "I had thought that much, at least, would be obvious… I was searching for proof that your mind wasn't flawed, that it was in reality stronger than it had ever been. I hoped if I was able to prove your mental fortitude somehow that the High Prince would cease to think that you could be of no use to him. I even selfishly entertained the notion that he would welcome me back into the council, and into his circle of absolute trust, once again, but I did not cling to that notion so closely. You were my priority – you always had been."

Phendrana's gaze dropped to his hands, which by now were twisting guiltily in his lap. It was humbling to hear just how central his well-being was to someone else, someone whom he had been convinced all along wanted nothing to do with him. The thought made him wish he could go back in time and do things differently. It made him wish he was even a fraction as brave as the Twelfth Prince was.

"It took me far longer than it should have to realize that I had been going about my studies all wrong." Brennus was finally relaxing a bit, settling back in his chair, resting his chin upon one hand – the retelling of his accounts had made him more animated, made him seem like at least a ghost of himself. "All along I had been operating off of the assumption that the dreams you were having were somehow linked to your inherent abilities of the mind… It occurred to me not long after your run-in with the psionist that the dreams were likely _heightened_ , something the shadow had amplified upon regenerating your body. I changed my strategy. If the dreams were a result of your transformation, I needed to look elsewhere.

"It took some doing, but after much debate I was able to procure some of Lamorak's notes detailing your condition and your abilities for my work. When I had a better idea of how your talents were developing I asked Lamorak to supply me with a handful of accounts of Determinings he had conducted in the past that had yielded similar results. After reviewing three of these in particular, I was finally able to arrive at the conclusion I had been seeking.

"The first specimen I reviewed had been highly cerebral prior to his transformation – highly intuitive, with the ability to use probability and odds to predict outcomes of particular events with a very high rate of success. After he took on the shadow this ability of his was amplified exponentially, to the point where he was actually able to _see_ the world around him several seconds into the future – just long enough that he could influence events in a favorable manner if he so desired. But this gift came at a heavy price for him – the strain of constantly glimpsing the future took its toll upon his mind, until he suffered a mental collapse. It drove him insane.

"The second case was similar – a lesser noble, highly aware of her surrounding environment, with the ability to look at a person and somehow _know_ where they would wind up and what they would be doing. This precognition was heightened upon her transformation, and her ability turned into acute telekinesis – she was able to move things thousands of times the weight of any other recorded archwizard in Netherese history. Unfortunately it was greed that brought about her downfall – in Lamorak's account this shade actually attempted to tear the top off a mountain with her powers and mold it into the next floating enclave of our empire. Needless to say, she was unsuccessful.

"The last of these accounts was so similar to yours that I was puzzled how its existence had escaped Lamorak's notice – but then, I suppose he has been much more involved in recent matters than I. The specimen had vivid dreams that followed both reoccurrence and a state of progression – they happened on an almost nightly basis, and the events furthered themselves with each passing dream. Following his transformation this shade was able to predict the future through his dreams with startling accuracy. According to Lamorak's report, however, the shade's condition progressed so quickly that he began experiencing negative side effects – hallucinations being the most severe of these."

"What happened to him?" Phendrana found himself asking in a soft, intrigued voice, and Brennus dropped his gaze with a grimace.

"He… did not survive long," the loremaster told him evasively. "The intensity of the mental stimuli was too much for his mind to endure… He took his own life." Phendrana swallowed hard, suddenly intensely afraid that he was destined to suffer a similar fate, but Brennus continued. "In reviewing this last account I was able to form a strong hypothesis where your mental state was concerned… I concluded that your mind, while brilliant, was likely having difficulty adjusting to its new capabilities. From studying Lamorak's notes on your condition, I was certain that unless preventative measures were taken your abilities would continue to grow until your mind lacked the mental capacity to sustain them.

"So I started reviewing the facts, pondering all that we knew of your condition. What did I know? I knew that you had possessed a remarkable facility for telekinesis and telepathy even before you had become a shade. I knew that in the wake of your transformation those two abilities had become amplified, and that you had begun having prophetic dreams. I knew that your memory had suffered in the earliest stages of your regeneration. And I knew that you were under a crippling amount of stress - brought on by a combination of being isolated for extended periods of time, being viewed with mistrust, being made to choose sides, being forced to deny your true emotions, and likely a handful of other things you had neglected to share with anyone. In short, your mind was _too_ brilliant. Your new abilities were wearing you down, and if something wasn't done you would be lost.

"I knew I couldn't trust anyone with such a sensitive matter, so I surrounded myself with spellbooks that might be of some assistance – I hoped that if I could locate the right enchantment I could bind it into a magical item, and if I could get that to you somehow…" Brennus broke off with a shrug as though perhaps he viewed his own actions as foolish, but he would no longer look Phendrana in the eye and the doppelganger was almost certain the loremaster was embarrassed. "The spell I chose was Mind Blank, but I weaved a handful of other supplemental magics into the finished product that I knew would be beneficial to you."

"I am not familiar with Mind Blank," Phendrana admitted softly. "Will you tell me what it does?"

He had hoped the sound of his voice would prompt the Twelfth Prince to look up, but Brennus had devoted his attention to a scratch on the table's surface and kept his eyes fixed upon it stubbornly as he continued. "The enchantment will protect you from any mind-affecting spell – natural abilities such as the art of psionics will be able to bypass it, but any spell-like effect will be negated by it. It also shields your mind from any such divinations – if someone attempted to scry a person who was protected by this spell, the scrying attempt would fail. It would be impossible to locate that person through magical means."

Phendrana was unable to hide his shock. "By the Gods."

"There is more. Mind Blank fortifies the user's mental fortitude – an especially well-crafted item imbued with that enchantment can increase a person's focus, aid a person in silencing certain thoughts and emotions at a time when they would otherwise seem detrimental, even increase a person's mental capacity. So if someone happened to be suffering the side effects of over-developed mental abilities – "

"The spell would enable them to function normally," Phendrana finished, astounded. "The side effects would be negated."

He raised his left hand and uncurled his fingers, presenting the luminous mithral band he had found on the ballroom floor of the Palace Most High; the two diamonds twinkled coolly in the light from the candles that were lit upon the headboard, the band imparting its perpetual warmth into his fingertips. Phendrana looked up to find Brennus staring down at the ring he held with a fierce pride in his eyes, which by now had returned to their characteristic bronze color, and when the loremaster shifted his gaze to finally look Phendrana in the eye those eyes took on a familiar molten quality that the doppelganger had once been certain he'd never see again in his lifetime.

"You made this," the doppelganger concluded quietly, "for me." He remembered the chaos of his own thoughts, the feeble struggle for focus as he'd attempted to ground his abilities enough for them to be of use, the panic and hopelessness that were direct by-products of knowing he wasn't strong enough to make a difference. He remembered the sensation of courage and self-worth that had come with slipping the ring on his finger for the first time, how simple it had been to recreate Hadrhune's mind from the splinters of what had been left behind, and the impenetrable shield of his own mental defenses keeping the Princes of Shade from further harm. It struck him then that if it hadn't been for Brennus's diligence and devotion, he would never have found the strength to save anyone.

Brennus's face screwed up with confusion then as he tried vainly to recall something, but whatever it was it seemed he could not quite envision it. Phendrana came to understand in the next moment when the loremaster said, "I think I saw you there, protecting us from the fire until the High Prince came. I think it must have worked."

For some reason he couldn't explain Phendrana found his thoughts traveling back over the months to the moment when a Brennus who did not carry the concerns he did now had unveiled the doppelganger's new home to him for the very first time. Phendrana remembered being awed into a revered silence and humbled to a state of near-tears, just as certain now as he had been then that he was the recipient of something he could never deserve, and recalled precisely the words he had said in that instant – they fit this situation just the same. "Why? Why do you insist on giving me all these things?"

The Twelfth Prince must have remembered that time just as fondly, for his laugh ringing throughout the doppelganger's bedchamber was more jubilant than it might have been otherwise; he looked Phendrana square in the eyes then, ensuring that he wouldn't miss a single word when he offered a response identical to the one he had given that day. "Do you not know?"

The atmosphere in the room changed abruptly as Phendrana relaxed back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and fixing the loremaster with an expression of mock displeasure. "I find myself still less than pleased with your behavior over the past several months. I am not certain I am prepared to forgive you!"

"Then we are in agreement," Brennus laughed sheepishly, "for I may never forgive myself." His expression shifted from dour to uplifted in the blink of an eye then – he was so overcome by optimism that Phendrana was in awe of him. "But this changes everything, Phendrana. A few simple tests is all it will take to assure the High Prince that your mind is not broken – that it is stronger now than it has ever been, in fact! So long as you are in possession of that ring you needn't fear your own mental excesses. Your abilities can continue to grow and develop, and you have no fear of the adverse effects you suffered previously. Your life can go on."

There was a note of wistfulness in the prince's tone that alerted Phendrana to the fact that one thing still was amiss; he chose his words carefully, hoping Brennus would supply the answers of his own accord when he prompted, "And so can yours."

"Ah." Brennus's face fell then, his obvious disappointment shattering the feeling of bliss swelling in Phendrana's own chest. "Unfortunately that is not the case… The High Prince can never find out that it was I who created that ring for you. If he does, he will know that I have been violating his orders all this time… The punishment will be severe, and I will likely not survive it. You must therefore invent your own creative means for coming into possession of such a useful artifact, and your explanation can never involve me."

"But you saved me." Phendrana could feel anger burning in his chest, helpless rage for the bleak situation they now found themselves in. "It is all on account of you that I have maintained my sanity… That I will continue to be useful to the High Prince at all! Surely he would reconsider – "

"No, Phendrana." Brennus's voice derailing his tirade was sad yet stern, and the molten quality had vanished from his eyes – he was the Twelfth Prince of Shade now, a man whose decree was to be respected and carried out. "He would not reconsider, and he would not understand. He must never know of my involvement."

The unfairness of it all - of having love torn from him and suffering the gaping wounds of its absence, of finding that his hatred had been misplaced all this time, of experiencing the fleeting prospect that perhaps miraculously all would be well only to have it ripped from him a second time – drove Phendrana from his seat; he gazed down at Brennus with an expression of utmost torment upon his face, his hands trembling at his sides, and spoke the most heartfelt vow to ever fall upon the prince's ears. "I swear to you now that I will find a way to remedy this," he growled, his conviction making the words sound unnecessarily harsh, his eyes shining with purpose. "I will find a way to absolve you of all suspicion and doubt in this matter. I will not rest until the High Prince recognizes your selflessness and your acts of astounding heroism. I will persist until he finds it in his heart to forgive you. And then I will love you for as long as the shadow sustains me."

Brennus rose soundlessly to his feet and smiled, clearly touched by the sentiment, but did not approach; secretly Phendrana was grateful for that, for there was so much left to do and so much that remained unspoken between them that he knew the moment was simply not now for any further declarations. The loremaster drifted for the door, his eyes upon Phendrana with his every step, and pausing there he murmured, "I will cherish your vow for all the days of my life, and pray daily for your success. And when the day comes and you realize that you have made a promise you cannot keep, I will continue to love you regardless."

And then he was gone.

Phendrana glared at the closed door for a long time afterward, recalling with despair all the nights he had spent projecting his hate through the heat of his furious gaze upon an individual who hadn't deserved it at all. For a moment he almost bowed beneath the crippling feeling of despondency that assailed him as he considered the seemingly impossible task ahead, but just when he felt that all was already lost he felt something blazing warmly in his left hand and loosened his fingers to inspect it.

It was the ring that Brennus had made, sitting quietly upon the doppelganger's upturned palm, somehow imparting courage and strength through it presence alone, and Phendrana drew something far stronger from it that he used to battle back the feelings of doubt and dread and desolation.

It was hope.


	13. The First Union

"Tell me how I can help you succeed in this." This had never been a part of Mourntrin Auvryndar's original plan, but there was no denying that things had gone hopelessly awry since the first moment Quartana Baenre had led them into the shadow kingdom of Thultanthar. The orphan from Ched Nasad had long since prided himself on his resourcefulness – it was a trait that had helped him flourish in Bregan D'aerthe – and he knew he needed to trust in that singular trait now if he was to have any hope of success. There was no denying that the closer Quartana got to Lim Tal'eyve, the greater the chances that his affairs would end with his triumph.

Quartana glared disdainfully down the tip of her nose at him as though contemplating whether or not to reply, and though it grated on Mourn's nerves he allowed the slight and chose not to argue. There was nothing to be gained by complicating matters, and further agitating the ever-volatile priestess would likely only jeopardize his mission. He needed her to lean on him now, for she was the only means to an end left available to him. At length she shifted, crossing one shapely leg over the other as though daring him to follow the feminine curves of her body with his eyes so that she could chastise him – for his part, Mourn could honestly say that he wasn't in the least bit enticed to do so. "For starters you could do your part a little better than the rest of those bumbling fools the Spider Queen enlisted to carry out her bidding. Performing each of these tasks personally is becoming taxing, and if you fail me again and manage to survive I can promise you… I will make you wish you had died at the hands of those foul shadow-dwellers."

Mourn nodded in what he hoped appeared to be a meek fashion and chose not to reply, knowing that the priestess was still sore over the loss of Nhilue Xorlarrin. Like most female drow Quartana considered her male counterparts to be of little value and therefore hadn't been particularly concerned by the deaths of Xuntath Oblodra or Zek Vandree, but when Nhilue had failed to return to Menzoberranzan there was no debating that the worst had happened to her. Knowing that the Princes of Shade had gotten the better of a priestess of Lolth didn't sit well with Quartana, and the strain was easy to see in her eyes – strain that could easily be converted into rage in the event that he crossed her, Mourn knew.

"One way or another," Quartana was saying in a surprisingly introspective voice, "it will all be over for us tonight. The Spider Queen blessed me in a dream, showing me the glorious tasks she has designed for us – tonight I will at last have the opportunity to punish Lim Tal'eyve for all of his past transgressions, and with the strength of the goddess guiding my hand I will deliver that traitor back into the Abyss." Her eyes grew misty at the prospect and a prideful smile lit up her face that churned Mourn's stomach with disgust as she finished, "All the advantages are ours. With Lolth on my side we will strike a blow that will bring the Netherese archwizards to their knees."

"Yes," Mourn agreed, for he simply had nothing to say that could be considered in keeping with the priestess's plans. He couldn't tell her that this arrangement of theirs promised to be supremely beneficial to him in the end, but not in the ways that she imagined. He couldn't tell her that he had no intention of allowing her to so much as lay eyes upon Lim Tal'eyve, much less take up arms against him.

He couldn't tell her that at the first available opportunity he would betray her without a second thought, for in reality their agendas weren't even remotely similar.

"Call for me the moment you have a need," he told her instead, his voice compliant though inside his heart was hammering wildly at just the thought of his imminent treachery. "I will serve you uncomplainingly. Returning to the City of Shade now is my single greatest aspiration."

There was no need to tell her why – she would find out soon enough.

* * *

Aveil mistakenly overslept – she had found little real rest after Fourth Prince Aglarel's late night visit, finally drifting into a fitful sleep just before dawn – and hadn't quite cleared out of Villa Cloveri by the time the manor began buzzing with activity. Though she only spent a scant few minutes in the restroom refreshing herself, it wasn't quick enough to avoid the return of Soleil Chemaut and her entourage of handmaidens as they bustled about readying the princess-to-be for her upcoming nuptials; she lingered in the doorway, embarrassed by her wrinkled nightgown and her bare feet, and briefly wondered if she could fling herself off the balcony without anyone noticing. In the moment that she hesitated Soleil spotted her and moved toward her with a soft smile and an outstretched hand.

"Welcome, Sceptrana," she greeted Aveil warmly, taking her hand and tugging her gently away from the door; Aveil couldn't help but marvel at their physical similarities, dark hair and alabaster skin, and how strange it was that two people who looked so alike could vary so much in demeanor. Truth be told Aveil quietly admired the High Prince's mountebank, envied her even – there was an innate goodness that radiated from the very core of her being that Aveil longed for and knew she could never hope to possess. Being in Soleil's presence made Aveil feel even more unclean than usual.

"I had meant to be gone long before you returned," Aveil confessed softly, her discomfort showing clearly in her expression. "Forgive me for overstaying my welcome."

Soleil blinked twice, confusion breaking through her blissful smile; though her handmaidens were bustling all around and clambering almost desperately for her attention she kept her attention focused solely upon Aveil, as though the Sceptrana was her only priority. As Aveil watched the mountebank's face softened with sympathy, and she patted Aveil reassuringly on the arm. "Yesterday's events were taxing on us all," Soleil confessed, "but I think perhaps you suffered the most of all. Privacy is the least I could do to accommodate your needs."

"The Princes of Shade nearly lost their lives," Aveil pointed out, hardly feeling as though the hardships she had experienced could compare to the near-fatal wounds her betters had endured.

"Yes," Soleil agreed, nodding sagely, "but were spared largely thanks to your selflessness and heroism. Your actions will not soon be forgotten." Then the radiance returned to her face and she continued, "I am glad to find you here still – I was hoping you might stay awhile, and prepare for the ceremony with me."

"Prepare?" Aveil heard herself echo incredulously. "For your wedding? With you?"

"We are the only women that sit upon the High Prince's council," Soleil pointed out, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I would like it very much if we could be friends."

Unwillingly Aveil recalled the last friends she had had, the elf princess Ria Valiente and the man who had once been her dear husband, Drako Falconis, and pondered the two ragged holes in her heart that she had long assumed she could never fill. And when anxiety began to grip her she forced her thoughts to dwell upon all she had gained since those dark times – the support of the High Prince, the unlikely trust of Fourth Prince Aglarel, the unexpected but not unwelcome camaraderie of Third Prince Lamorak and Phendrana and now this gesture of friendship from the woman who was soon to be Princess of Thultanthar. Perhaps it wasn't about filling the empty spaces in her heart – perhaps it had more to do with allowing her heart to grow, to find room for everyone she cared about both past and present.

"As would I," the Sceptrana said at last, and the smile Soleil had been trying so hard to hide broadened like the sun breaking over the horizon.

Clapping her hands once joyfully Soleil spun to address her handmaidens, who at once snapped to attention and fixed their gazes upon her rapturously. "Go at once to Villa Hara and collect the Sceptrana's things," she told them with a crispness and efficiency in her voice. "Whatever it is that she requires, see that it is brought here at once."

That was how Aveil found herself sitting in a chair side-by-side with the High Prince's soon-to-be daughter-in-law, glancing around bewilderedly as the mountebank's attendants fawned over her nails, applied her makeup, and arranged her hair meticulously. Beside her Soleil was serene, and Aveil wondered at her silence until at last she voiced that which she had been pondering to herself.

"What is it like to be married?"

Aveil accepted the inquiry graciously and worked to keep her face neutral, her eyes tracing the contours of the full tulle skirt of Soleil's wedding gown on the bedspread where it lay. The memories she associated with her time as a married woman were distinctly darker than most of her other recollections – not because of her relationship with her husband, but because of the circumstances that always circled their union. Their wedding had been a secret affair, deep within the woods surrounding E'lastamor where Ria Valiente and her deceased brother Juraviel had once lived and ruled and attended by only those two and the presiding priest. Of course it wasn't the ceremony that the showy and attention-craving Aveil had always dreamed of, but necessary at the time; the Time of Troubles had only just ended and the Spider Queen was relentlessly searching for them, as they were known supporters of Lim Tal'eyve and the Jaezred Chaulssin. She and Drako were forced to move constantly, never settling down, never dropping their guards, for to relax was to die and they were survivors. It was on one of their sojourns into the wilds, somewhere to the southwest of the Bloodstone Lands, where Lim had come upon their campsite; after a brief battle she had been whisked off to Castle Perilous and imprisoned, and her captivity had ended with the extraction and murder of her unborn child. Though Drako and his then-companions had rescued her in the end the pain of losing a child had been too much for them to bear, and the thought of a conventional life had terrified Aveil; she had left him shortly after, and learned of his death years later in passing.

She found that one of her hands had fallen unconsciously to her belly, where she still bore the scar from the blade Lim had used to tear the baby from her body, and dropped her hand at once as though burned. By this time Soleil was watching her with curiosity and a touch of concern, so Aveil hastened at once to stumble through a reply. "I am not certain I am the best person to converse with on the subject… My marriage did not end happily, and misfortune followed us throughout the course of our wedded life. Nevertheless I will say that the adversity kept us close, and that he remains close to my heart even now."

"I am truly sorry," Soleil murmured, her eyes troubled, her voice filled with regret. "I knew of Drako Falconis – his name was uttered often in Waterdeep, where I hailed prior to joining the High Prince's court here. I know that he was Mielikki's champion, and that he accomplished many noble feats in her honor. Surely she prepared a grand place for him beside her when he retired from this world."

"The Gods know he would deserve it," Aveil agreed with a kind of sad fondness in her eyes. "Until very recently I was frivolous in my conduct, cruel to those who called me friend, and I held very little appreciation for the lives of those around me. For enduring my company for so long he deserves every comfort and kindness the afterlife has to offer."

Soleil's curious yellow eyes were studying Aveil's face with an understanding that made the Sceptrana squirm a little in her chair; by this time the mountebank's handmaidens had finished applying her makeup, and there was no denying how like a queen she looked. It made Aveil feel very small. "You do not have a very high opinion of yourself."

"I am realistic," Aveil replied simply. "Selfish desires and material gains were the things that drove me. I know what such longings do to people. I am not proud of the person I used to be."

"Had you not been that person you would likely not be who you are today," Soleil pointed out diplomatically. "Nor would you have had such a positive impact on those around you." The incredulous expression that served as Aveil's answer had Soleil laughing so hard that her handmaidens tittered at her disapprovingly, and when she grew still and sat up straighter she added, "Surely you see what a difference your companionship has made in Prince Aglarel, at least? You would be blind not to! It is like night and day!"

"I am the one who has changed," Aveil argued stubbornly. "Not him. The fraction of trust he has placed in me is now my most closely guarded treasure."

Soleil smiled at her response as though something about those words melted her heart. "And it is because you so cherish what you have been given that he continues to give it, freely and willingly. Surely you are not under the impression that just anyone entertains his trust? He rewards loyalty, and it is no secret to any of us just how devoted to him you are."

For a moment Aveil's eyes reflected something that Soleil was certain was fierce pride, but before she could even comment on it the expression became undiluted fear; the Sceptrana shifted in her chair, ignoring the soft protests of the handmaidens who were putting the finishing touches on her manicure, and pitched her voice low. "I trust I do not appear _too_ devoted?"

"Too devoted?" echoed Soleil incredulously, clearly taken aback by the question, and Aveil closed her eyes as though the words she was preparing to utter pained her.

"As devoted as you are to Prince Escanor," Aveil clarified, and Soleil blinked twice with newfound clarity.

"Oh." The mountebank paused and kept still as one of her attendants painstakingly applied her lipstick, a rosy pink hue that gave her face a timeless look; the moment that was done she turned her gaze back to Aveil and added, "Not in my opinion, but you should know that there is no crime in feeling that way… If that is indeed the case, I mean."

"It isn't," Aveil insisted, her tone clipped and allowing no room for debate, and so Soleil wisely dropped the matter despite the fact that she was veritably burning with curiosity. "Forgive me… I can only say that I am ever hesitant to allow myself to harbor even the slightest personal affection for anyone. The less-than-favorable situation that I found myself in with Hadrhune is too recent for my liking, and I remember all too well that our desires nearly ruined us both. I have since convinced myself that it would be better for all parties if I focused on my duties and didn't mire myself in such affairs again."

Soleil nodded her understanding, for she couldn't pretend she didn't understand the logic behind the Sceptrana's decision, but that didn't stop her from feeling quite sad on Aveil's account. She remembered well the events Aveil was referring to, a time just months ago when the Sceptrana and Hadrhune had chosen to defy the High Prince's wishes and carry on a secret liaison that had eventually been uncovered; Aveil's punishment had been bad enough, but as a member of the Shadow Court the seneschal Hadrhune had been utterly disgraced. He had since been welcomed back into the High Prince's confidence, but no one could doubt that Telamont had been holding Hadrhune at arm's length since then. The High Prince's memory was long-lived, and he did not forget treachery easily.

The mountebank made herself study Aveil then, made herself look beyond her own preconceived notions of the other woman and consider the person Aveil had become in recent weeks. Her newfound dedication to the High Prince and his affairs was admirable, the primary trait that often determined a person's usefulness in the Shadow Court - despite that dedication, however, Soleil knew for a fact that the majority of the Princes of Shade still did not support Aveil's ascension or her aspirations to make herself appear worthy in their sovereign's eyes. Even taking that into account, though, there was no denying that Aveil had conducted herself with grace and poise; she had toiled selflessly even without the support of her peers, carried out Prince Aglarel's wishes uncomplainingly and to the letter, and had risked her own life to preserve them. The Sceptrana's desire to atone for her past mistakes emanated from the very core of her being, that much was certain.

Not for the first time Soleil found herself marveling at the Sceptrana's physical beauty, and had little difficulty seeing for herself why a man as stoic of demeanor as Hadrhune had succumbed to such primal desires. The blend of Aveil's snow elf heritage with her human ancestry was perfectly proportioned, pale unblemished skin and thick jet hair and eyes a startling shade of indigo; there was something about her exotic features that made her look like royalty, something that Soleil remembered with a start was right on the mark. She had heard it told that Aveil's father had been the last crowned king of the Frostfell, and that only Aveil had survived him – in the event that Aveil ever returned to the Spine of the World and made good on her claim to the throne of the snow elves, she would be a queen in her own right.

She wouldn't need to marry to claim a crown, and then she would be the only friend to Thultanthar with royal blood running through her veins.

"I have to wonder whether you will find yourself mired in such affairs again at a later date," Soleil finally told her thoughtfully, "even if you do not necessarily wish it."

Aveil met her gaze steadily and did not agree, but neither did she argue; Soleil couldn't help but wonder if such a possibility had already occurred to her. After a weighty pause Aveil's eyes fell upon her now-polished fingernails as she murmured, "My concern is not for the _if_ or the _when_ , for such things have crossed my mind of late – of course I would never protest if the High Prince arranged a match for me and one of his sons, for to be wed to a Prince of Shade is nothing less than an unprecedented honor that I could never deserve. My concern is for the _who_."

"Your prospects concern you," Soleil surmised conspiratorially. "Or at least, some of them do." In response to the fear she witnessed creeping back into the Sceptrana's eyes she hurriedly added, "You are in safe company, Aveil. I can assure you that all you utter here will remain private."

Aveil visibly relaxed, though her forehead was still creased with worry. "I feel their collective reception of me ranges anywhere from utter disregard to blatant hostility in all cases. A few of them tolerate me, but I suspect it is for appearances sake only. Naturally it is a worry to me that one day I might find myself wed to a man whose opinion of me falls anywhere on the aforementioned scale."

The mountebank thought for certain she could name one exception to Aveil's suppositions, but decided to keep her opinion to herself for the time being and watch how things played out. Instead she reached over and patted the Sceptrana's arm reassuringly, saying, "I'm certain it wouldn't be as bad as all that. It is obvious that the High Prince values your loyalty and would surely want to reward you for it. I cannot imagine he would ever place you in a situation so unfavorable to you."

Timena, the primary lady-in-waiting to the princess-to-be, surveyed the two women with great satisfaction before saying, "Ladies, I believe you are ready for your gowns."

Aveil rose from her seat and waited patiently as Soleil's handmaidens removed her nightgown and brought her dress from where it had been hanging upon the back of the bedchamber door. It was the first time she had laid eyes upon her own garb, for that decision had been left up to the bride and Aveil had graciously surrendered to the mountebank's judgment; it was almost breathtakingly lovely, a strapless ice-blue trumpet gown that hugged her frame to the knee where silk and crystals gave way to elaborate ruffles of tulle and chiffon. Her heels were white and encrusted with clear gems, and when she was dressed Timena surprised her by presenting a simple platinum tiara set with a diamond-shaped aquamarine that matched her ensemble.

"A gift," Soleil was saying, mostly hidden within the drove of attendants as they assisted her with her wedding gown. "I hope you do not mind. I have hardly had the opportunity to show my thanks for all you have done since your appointment to Sceptrana, and I do not want you to think your toils have gone unnoticed. It can be overwhelming, trying to ensure your voice is heard amongst such powerful masters, but know that you will always have my support!"

Aveil bent at the knee as Timena arraigned the tiara within the soft curls of her dark hair, momentarily stunned by the mountebank's gesture of kindness. "I am speechless," she admitted, seeking Soleil's eyes and managing to catch a glimpse of those yellow orbs within the swirl of activity. "I am overwhelmed by your generosity. You have my most sincere thanks, Princess. I will cherish this gift and look forward to the opportunity to repay you in kind."

Soleil's answering laughter was music, but her reply was lost in the sudden gentle knock upon the door; Timena huffed disapprovingly and bustled to answer it, opening it but a fraction in order to say, "No visitors! The First Prince's bride is not to be disturbed before the ceremony, by order of the High Prince himself!"

"With all due respect, madam," came a soft voice that Aveil was certain she recognized, "I am calling upon the Sceptrana."

As flattered as she was, Aveil welcomed the distraction – being pampered simply wasn't something she was accustomed to, and the day's many concerns were continuously occupying her thoughts. She crossed the room in four quick strides, the sound of her heels muffled by the carpet, and slipped out the door with a brief nod for Timena.

Phendrana's attendant Lux was awaiting her in the hallway, where he offered her a gracious little bow. "Sceptrana, forgive my boldness, but you are a vision."

Aveil chose not to reply to the compliment, for she was far more disturbed by the boy's unexpected appearance. "Has something happened?"

Lux's eyebrows drew together as though something had irked him, but he shook his head to dispel her fears. "All is as it should be for now," the boy assured her. "The city is alive with the High Prince's subjects, eager to share in the joy of the First Prince's impending union. There have been several secretive meetings this morning, the topics of which I can only speculate – one between Phendrana, Lamorak, and Aglarel and another between Phendrana, Lim, and Hadrhune. It seems they are all preparing themselves for every possible contingency, but as of yet nothing new has occurred."

"Has Prince Aglarel called for me?" She had been hoping to receive a summons from him, for she had been concerned for his well being since his departure the night previous, but was puzzled when Lux only shook his head a second time.

"Forgive me, lady, but no. You see – "

But they had reached the bottom of the stairs now, and with it the foyer; standing just inside the door, resplendent in his most formal High Priest's robes, was Second Prince Rivalen. He wore a crown of platinum and ovular stones black as night, and around his neck hung an ornate amulet of Shar encrusted in blue-black diamonds; in the crook of his left arm he carried the Word of Shar, a timeless holy relic bound in abyssal dragon skin said to have been ripped from the hide of Tiamat whose pages the Night Mother herself was said to have penned at the dawn of the First Age. His eyes shone lustrous and silver from within the gently-undulating veil of shadow that clung to his body, a clear sign that the previous days' ills no longer plagued him.

"Ah," he said, seemingly pleased by her appearance. "Here you are."

Aveil hasted into a curtsy, her thoughts in a tangle. In the past Rivalen had never bothered with her – he had scarcely cast an eye her way since she had taken up her seat on the Shadow Council, and hadn't expressed any sort of dissent or congratulation when she had been elevated to the position of Sceptrana. Truth be told, she viewed this sort of negligence more as a kindness than anything else – Rivalen was the High Priest of Shar and the herald of the Night Mother's faith, something that Aveil, in her worship of the goddess Mystra, both couldn't understand and secretly reviled. She could think of no reason why he might be calling on her now. "Has something happened?"

"Aside from hearty celebration down every street, I cannot say that I have anything to report." Rivalen strolled leisurely to where Aveil stood flabbergasted on the last stair from the threshold and offered her the smallest of smiles. "I called for you at Villa Hara but Aglarel's housekeeping staff informed me that you were here, entertaining Soleil as she prepares for her wedding. I wondered if you would walk with me."

"Walk?" Aveil repeated incredulously. "With you?" She glanced sidelong to the place where she knew Lux to be standing, only to find that the mysterious boy was nowhere in sight.

"Of course," Rivalen replied good-naturedly. "I meant what I told you yesterday – for saving my life, no further prejudice will befall you if I can help it. That being said, I thought it best if we got to know one another a little better. It shames me to admit that prior to today I have taken very little interest in your successes and your advancement – let me assure you, from this point on your triumphs will not escape my notice." He offered her the arm that was not supporting the Word of Shar, adding, "Shall we?"

With the element of surprise gone Aveil found that her thoughts had at last caught up to the circumstances, and conjuring a smile for the Second Prince that was both taken aback and flattered she expertly formulated her reply. "Your offer pleases me greatly, Prince, and it pains me that I must decline. The princess-to-be needs me, and I have offered myself up to her every whim until the ceremony takes place." In truth, she was more than a little suspicious of this sudden offer of goodwill. Had her actions yesterday really been enough to garner this sort of attention? She didn't think so, and couldn't help but wonder if Rivalen was secretly harboring some unseen ulterior motive.

Rivalen nodded, and despite her rejection his tiny smile hardly faltered – Aveil continued to study him, perfectly mystified. "I thought as much. Well, it cannot be helped – far be it from me to bring my older brother's fiancée any unhappiness on this day." He took a step back and offered her a bow before finishing, "I look forward to seeing you at the ceremony, Sceptrana, and may I say in confidence that if Soleil looks any bit as majestic as you do I will be very surprised indeed."

He politely excused himself from the foyer then, leaving Aveil feeling every bit as astonished as she had before. Remembering that she was supposed to be keeping Soleil company she hurried up the stairs to the second floor, pausing briefly just outside the door in the hopes that that would be all the time she needed to compose herself.

She found that it wasn't before she had even closed the door behind her – Soleil was standing in the center of the room while Timena fussed over every last detail of her appearance, her hands upon her hips and her head tilted slightly to the side as she studied Aveil's expression. "Is everything alright?"

Aveil nodded immediately and waved one hand in dismissal, hoping she wouldn't have to go into much detail to whet the mountebank's curiosity. "A social call," she explained airily. "Nothing more."

Soleil's eyebrows lifted a fraction. "May I ask from whom?"

"Second Prince Rivalen."

The princess-to-be lowered her head at a prompting from Timena, who was still meticulously primping every last one of her soft dark curls, but the angle of her face allowed Aveil a glimpse of a small self-indulgent smile as Soleil replied, "I see."

Aveil stood there dumbfounded, and for the life of her could not think of a single word to say.

* * *

Phendrana was standing before the front doors of Villa Sage, the personal residence of Third Prince Lamorak, just after sunrise without the faintest idea of what to say. He had a vague notion of how to begin, but each introduction that presented itself seemed more foolish than the last. After everything Lamorak had sacrificed to support Phendrana, how could it be that now the doppelganger was standing upon his doorstep prepared to demand even more?

"How long will you be content to stand there, counting each individual grain in the wood of my front door?" came a voice from somewhere above him, and Phendrana looked up confusedly to find Lamorak standing upon the balcony overhead with the shadow of a wry smile upon his lips. Phendrana gazed plaintively up at his companion, a desperate and unspoken question in his eyes, and when Lamorak nodded once in assent the doppelganger slowly levitated up to the balcony to join him. They stood facing one another for quite some time in silence, until the Determinist Prime came forward and clapped one hand bracingly down upon Phendrana's shoulder. "You are well?"

"Little has changed," Phendrana confessed, and the longing in his expression spoke volumes. Lamorak nodded as though he understood, and silently the mindmaster supposed that the Third Prince knew more from the outset than he had ever given him credit for.

"You don't really think that's true, do you?" Lamorak prodded gently, forcing Phendrana to investigate his own feelings in a way that only he could. "Everything has changed, hasn't it? Your entire perspective has been altered. All that you thought you knew is incorrect." Seeing the panic intensifying in the doppelganger's far-off gaze prompted Lamorak to add, "How will you respond?"

Phendrana braced his palms upon the balcony guardrail and looked out, momentarily astounded by the sheer number of people occupying the streets. By order of the High Prince himself the wedding of First Prince Escanor Tanthul to Soleil Chemaut was to be a public event that all in the city were invited to attend, and it was clear by the revelry all around that this was a proclamation the Most High's subjects had taken very deeply to heart. It was odd, watching all of the jubilation happening around him and still feeling melancholy. "I know what I need to do," he began thoughtfully, blinking rapidly in the glare of his white-adamantine armor in the meager rays of sunlight filtering through the thick curtain of shadow, "but it frightens me. I cannot say that I am pleased with myself, knowing that in order to comply with the man who forsook me I must ask even more of the man whose loyalty I am no longer certain I deserve."

He turned his apologetic gaze upon Lamorak, who was already watching him with a kind of quiet understanding. "Brennus and I have already spoken of that which you would ask me," confided the Third Prince. "I know of the ring, and I know how you came by it. Its construction is not a mystery to me."

Phendrana was puzzled. "Yet still you will help me?"

Lamorak's smile twisted then, became something a little less amicable and a little more devious; it was an unfamiliar expression that the doppelganger had never seen him wear. "Only because I know how things will turn out in the end… And so do you."

"I don't understand," Phendrana admitted, a little nervous, but Lamorak wasn't the enigmatic type and had no intention of leaving his companion guessing at the true meaning of his words.

"You and my brother both know that you have made promises to one another that you cannot possibly keep," Lamorak said indulgently, watching Phendrana's every reaction with his typical clinical expression. "You're both persistent, so you'll continue grasping at every opportunity you see for awhile, but in the end you'll recognize that your resistance is futile. The Most High has already spoken out on this matter – he's forbidden Brennus to entertain you privately, and he isn't in the habit of changing his mind once he has asserted his authority. You'll struggle, but you'll tire. You'll stop fighting for Brennus eventually, but don't think you'll be the only one – the Princes of Shade live a life of privilege. We aren't used to being denied the things that we desire, and Brennus can hardly be called an exception to that rule."

"I don't understand," Phendrana repeated numbly. "Why are you telling me this? I thought we were of like minds. I thought you were my friend… my confidante."

Lamorak's answering smile was wide and dazzling; his ceremonial fangs precisely matched the pristine white of his Determinist Prime robes. "We are of like minds, Phendrana, and I am your friend and confidante more than anyone else within this city – you will come to realize that sooner than you think. I tell you these things because I am hoping you will see reason before the consequences of your actions catch up with you. I understand that you have strong feelings for Brennus, but you must see the folly in clinging to these affections. Brennus has forsaken you once already, and if things turn ill you can rest assured that he will forsake you again." He took a step forward then and pitched his voice lower, eyeing his companion conspiratorially; Phendrana momentarily forgot that there were hundreds of people flooding the streets only a story below where they stood. "But I will not forsake you, Phendrana. I helped you return to humanity, I walked beside you through your emotional turmoil, I fought beside you and I lied for you. And when the day comes that Brennus decides you are no longer worth fighting for… Well, I'm sure you will remember all the things I've done for you when that moment finally arrives."

He patted Phendrana one more time on the shoulder before dropping his hand and moving toward his private quarters but the doppelganger called after him, stopping him short. "Why tell me this at all? What is this supposed to mean?"

"I'm not telling you anything you don't already know," said the Third Prince cryptically, his head cocked slightly to one side but his back still turned. "As for what it means… Well, I suppose it can mean whatever you would like it to mean."

"And the price of such loyalty?" Before the words had even left his tongue, Phendrana found himself fearing the answer.

"Let's not place a value on it just yet," Lamorak mused, and then he passed through the curtain into his bedchambers and left Phendrana reeling on the balcony behind him.

* * *

Mourn expected to find himself standing beside Quartana after they stepped through the Spider Queen's divine portal, and couldn't help feeling a little taken aback when he reached his destination alone. He took a moment to reorient himself, curious as to where the Baenre priestess might have wound up – hadn't she stepped through the portal just ahead of him? – but chose not to brood on it for long. He was back in Thultanthar, he knew, the stronghold of the Princes of Shade, and to be caught at unawares was to die swiftly and horribly.

Lolth's portal from Menzoberranzan had dropped him right in the midst of someone's private quarters, and judging from the resounding silence pressing in around him he supposed he was alone enough for the moment; he studied his unfamiliar surroundings warily, wondering why the Spider Queen had gone out of her way to deposit him in this particular place. The state of the bedchamber alluded to the owner's personality – clothes strewn haphazardly over chairs, bed sheets twisted and rumpled, chest of drawers flung open and its contents rifled through – but visibly there were no clues as to who might occupy it. Easing out of his defensive crouch he prowled about the room, unsure of what he was looking for but certain he would find it with patience and diligence.

He didn't have to search for long.

Beneath the candelabra upon the bedside table rested an ornate box carved from rich mahogany; Mourn couldn't say what it was about the trinket that caught his eye, but he found himself moving instinctively toward it the moment his eyes fell upon it. The lid of the box had collected a little dust, suggesting that perhaps it hadn't been used in awhile, and with cautious fingers he flipped the lid open and peered inside. The handful of items he found might have seemed like junk to the casual observer, but for Mourn they answered the question of just who resided in this particular bedchamber – the first item he extracted was a simple leather choker from which hung a small coin purse, and the second a simple bronze pin in the shape of an ornate sword.

The assassin sucked in a breath, his heart hammering almost painfully against his ribs. The symbol stitched upon the burlap coin purse was the drow insignia for a now-extinct house in Ched Nasad whose surname had once been Tal'eyve, and the bronze pin was the badge of office of the Anointed Blade of the Jaezred Chaulssin – he had seen the latter in a book of history he had read once several years ago, when he had first fallen in with the mercenaries of Bregan D'aerthe. He thought of Xuntath Oblodra then, his psionist friend and lost companion, and how envious he would surely be if he knew that Mourn was standing in the private chambers of Lim Tal'eyve.

But what to do? Mourn was frozen on the spot, his mind racing down each possible avenue to where his actions might lead. Had Lolth led him here for some purpose? Was she even now testing his loyalty to her? If he made one false move, would she reach through the ground and drag him down into the Abyss to serve as her newest plaything? Or was it all simply a coincidence? His hand fell to his belt, where his true purpose in seeking Lim Tal'eyve hung, mostly concealed, near his left hip. Was it safe to leave it here? How many other people had access to this room? If he left it and it fell into someone else's hands he would utterly fail in his mission, and that was something he could not afford. Mourn's eyes raked desperately over the open chest-of-drawers, the cabinet at the foot of the bed, the many shelves of the well-used study desk. Could he hide it? Were those hiding places too obvious? If he hid it too well, would it gather dust just like the other personal effects from Lim's storied past?

No, he decided at last, he couldn't leave it and trust that all would be well. The risk to his life would be higher, but at this point nothing would do but to deliver it to Lim in person. Only then could he be assured of his success.

Mourntrin Auvryndar peered out the curtain and across the modest balcony at the city below, taking a moment to better acquaint himself with the orientation of the enclave. The residence in which Lim Tal'eyve was housed seemed to be at the southernmost curve of a circle of similar such places – to the north stood a great palace whose imposing gates were currently thrown wide, and whatever structures stood at the other end of the city he could not immediately tell. The streets were bustling with activity, throngs of people dancing and singing and making merry as though they hadn't a care in the world, and though they seemed not to be in any real hurry Mourn couldn't help but notice that they were all slowly making their way in the direction of the palace. Whatever event was transpiring this day was surely taking place on the palace grounds, or perhaps within the palace itself.

Surely he could find Lim there?

Returning to the open chest-of-drawers he plunged his hands into the piles of fabrics, moving faster now, purpose flooding his features. Presently he came upon a light set of black glass armor with a matching _piwafwi_ -style cape that cinched at the shoulder that appeared to be well worn yet in good condition – hastily he threw off his own clothing, moving urgently now as a plan formed in his mind. He could steal onto the castle grounds using the great crowds of Thultanthar citizens as his cover, but there was a great chance that he would be singled out on the way and he couldn't risk making such an elementary mistake. The only way to ensure that he got close enough to Lim Tal'eyve was to appear, for all intents and purposes, that he truly _was_ the man he was seeking.

He had learned a few parlor tricks from Zek Vandree, minor spells to alter small features of a person's physical appearance, and he put that knowledge to use now. With a wave of his hand and a softly-uttered incantation he changed the color of his own eyes, pleased when he gazed into the looking-glass above the chest-of-drawers and saw amber irises staring expectantly back at him. Then he conjured a thin veil of shadows from the air around him and enchanted the darkness so that it clung closely to his body – the spell wasn't permanent, and the shadows would fade in an hour or two, but he prayed that it would be enough to see him through to the end of this masquerade.

Surely Lolth had brought him here for this exact purpose, assuming he would impersonate the very man she had sent him to help assassinate. Little did the Spider Queen know that her chosen emissary was now plotting to use his new guise to deliver the instrument she most feared into Lim Tal'eyve's hands.

Certain now that his disguise was clever enough to see him through most situations, Mourntrin Auvryndar simply turned and exited through the bedroom door.

No one stopped him as he passed.

* * *

They met in a gently-shaded grove at the extreme western edge of the palace gardens an hour before the ceremony at a prompting from Fourth Prince Aglarel; the clearing was edged with delicate, fragrant white blossoms that Phendrana was certain were night-blooming jasmine, and as Aglarel began to address them the doppelganger absentmindedly trailed his fingertips along the dainty blooms with the ghost of a nostalgic smile upon his lips. He could feel Lamorak's eyes upon him and knew that his expression must seem out of place given the circumstances, but he couldn't bring himself to feel concerned by it. For the first time since his transformation, things didn't seem so bleak anymore. Brennus had never really given up on him. The thought made him feel oddly weightless.

"We have little time," Aglarel was saying, his face grave, and Phendrana worked to focus on the task at hand. "Our primary concern now should be to secure the perimeter. Be on the lookout for anyone who does not belong." The Fourth Prince broke off and ran a hand down his face, momentarily distressed by the enormity of their task, and finished, "Difficult as I know such a request may be."

"And if we find the drow?" Hadrhune put in. Phendrana had to admit, it was refreshing to see the seneschal accepting a charge without argument for a change.

"Take no chances," Aglarel told them, a steely, unforgiving tone to his voice. "I want them killed on sight. I will not risk the safety of the High Prince, his eldest son or his daughter-in-law-to-be. Soleil's protection is now our first priority – I needn't remind any of you of the chaos that will surely result if she comes to harm."

It was silent for a moment as they all considered the implication of Aglarel's words. It was clear on all their faces that this was an outcome they collectively wished to avoid at all costs.

"Let us move quickly," Aglarel bade them. "Hadrhune, Lim, take the northern perimeter – I haven't forgotten about the priestess, and I won't leave you unprotected until that threat has passed."

"How _gracious_ of you," sneered Lim, rolling his eyes skyward, but Hadrhune quickly swatted the back of his head and the drow-shade wisely kept the rest of his snide remarks to himself.

"Lamorak, Phendrana," continued the Fourth Prince as though there had been no interruption, "investigate the southernmost portion of the garden and stay near the front gates if you can. The common folk have been entering the gardens from the gates since daybreak – it only makes sense that the drow would slip in with the general populace and attempt to sneak by unnoticed. Aveil, come with me – we must keep our eyes on the bride and groom at all times. Is everyone clear?" When his words were met with a general murmur of assent he finished, "Then let us meet back here a quarter of an hour before the ceremony begins, and we will join the procession on schedule."

They parted ways without a word. There was hardly time for idle chitchat any longer.

* * *

"You are ready?" asked Lim, when he was absolutely certain they were alone.

Hadrhune's eyes were fixed on some point far ahead of them, and when he heard Lim's voice he snapped to attention and looked all around vigilantly. The drow-shade barely managed to suppress the urge to laugh. "Of course I am," the seneschal snapped, as though to suggest otherwise would be an affront to him. "I have thought of nothing else but what I must do."

Lim paused, fixing his unlikely companion with a serious look; Hadrhune stopped in his tracks and cocked an eyebrow, wondering at the drow's sudden expression of indecision. Lim was always so certain of everything, so convinced that the first course of action he envisioned for himself was the right one, that to bear witness to such a rare display of hesitancy was highly disconcerting. The longer Hadrhune watched him the more Lim's face darkened, and if he didn't know better he would say that Lim seemed regretful all of a sudden.

"You know," the drow-shade said at length, in a way that clearly displayed that each passing word was a struggle to utter. "Since yesterday I have wondered… whether this is the right course of action. I can't help but wish there was another way."

"You made it quite clear that this is the _only_ way," Hadrhune reminded him wryly. "Why the sudden change of heart? You are in no danger here. The risk is mine."

"I wouldn't say 'no danger'," Lim pointed out. "There is still the drow priestess to worry about, after all. The fact of the matter is I like you, Hadrhune. I very much enjoy your company. You are the only one who has never questioned me. The only one I truly feel I can trust."

Hadrhune's face split into a genuine smile, his eyes dancing with some dark amusement. "I question you daily, make no mistake of that – I have never agreed with your methods, or your penchant for secrecy, or your deviations from the High Prince's agenda. But it is too late to go back now. The future you have envisioned will come to pass if we do nothing, and that is not something I can allow." And with that he turned his back on the drow and kept walking, his shoulders straighter now, the set of his gaze more diligent and less distracted.

Lim watched him go with a certain measure of awe in his eyes, amazed by the other man's conviction and bravery. That sense of amazement quickly fizzled back into regret, though, and with that weighing heavily on his mind he moved to follow.

Something struck him from behind, a swift and heavy blow from an unseen source that knocked him senseless, and before he could even mutter a sound he found the ground rushing up to greet him. Barely an instant after the blow had landed he was caught in his assailant's arms and dragged backward into the nearby hedgerows none-too-gently, and the last thing Lim saw before he was engulfed in the surrounding fauna was the distorted image of the shadow sorcerer Hadrhune walking away.

"I can't say that I'm not touched by your concern, though," Hadrhune admitted at last with a reluctant laugh. "It is the last thing I expected to hear from you." He continued to move ahead amiably, perhaps waiting for the drow to catch up and outpace him, but when several seconds rolled by and his words were met with only silence he glanced quizzically over his shoulder. Lim had never really been known for withholding his words, after all.

"Drow!" he called, his voice lifted in a cry. The drow was no longer behind him; Hadrhune turned fully back, immediately on the defensive, glancing all around for signs of foul play. Lim was nowhere to be seen. "Lim!" He strode back in the direction they had come, whipping his head from side to side, suspicion turning quickly into anger. "Now is not the time for your games!"

With no reply forthcoming the seneschal hurried back toward the place Aglarel had instructed they meet after their rounds, fully anticipating to find his companion there waiting for him as though the entire ruse had been nothing more than another of his nonsensical games.

* * *

"You look tired, Sceptrana." Aglarel's observation was light, the tone guarded and careful. He was exercising caution, waiting to see how he might be received, fearing that after the previous nights' events that too much between them had changed.

"And you look troubled, Prince." Anyone might have noticed as much. Aglarel's cares were at last starting to get the better of him – his eyes were dull, his shoulders slouched. Briefly Aveil considered the possibility that reaching an accord with Lim Tal'eyve had worn away at the last shred of his resolve, and that thought knotted her stomach with guilt. The notion that they should put aside their differences for the time being and work together with Lim had been her idea, after all. "Tell me how I might help to ease your burden."

"When the drow have been found and dealt with I will relax," he told her, "and not a moment sooner." He paused for a moment, considering his next words, before adding, "I must apologize for my behavior last night. I am… ashamed… that you saw me in such a state."

Aveil shook her hair back over her shoulders and did her best to appear unfazed by the memory of the previous nights' events. If Aglarel thought on any level that she was afraid of him, he would likely never confide in her again. "I can think of no reason that you should feel ashamed."

"I could have killed you, Aveil." Aglarel stopped abruptly at her side, forcing Aveil to pause so that she didn't outpace him; he was watching her with a tormented expression on his face, his silver eyes seeming sunken in his suddenly hollow cheeks, his fingers twisted into claws at his sides. "If you hadn't had the presence of mind to set preventative measures it would have been all too easy for me to kill you… Though knowing that you saw me as a threat before I even sought you out is worrisome enough."

"I knew that you were struggling, but I never once saw you as a threat," Aveil corrected him stubbornly. "In the ballroom – "

"I have no desire to speak of that incident," Aglarel overrode her dangerously, but Aveil paid him no mind and plowed on ahead.

" – You were utterly lost to your own rage. I knew that in the event you hadn't recovered yourself I would need some form of protection. How can you be angry with me for wanting to preserve my own safety, when I have already sworn that I do not hold these events against you?"

"Angry with _you_?" the Fourth Prince echoed incredulously, and some of the life returned to his eyes as he remembered how to feel anger. "I'm not angry with _you_ , you foolish wretch, I'm angry with _myself_. To think that I willingly sought you out while I was in such a volatile state! I should never have come to see you. I should have waited until I knew for certain that I was in complete control. Gambling with your safety is what I am truly ashamed of."

"Why do we even talk of what has already transpired?" Aveil argued, feeling that she might have more success convincing him if she tried another angle. "The night has come and gone and I am no worse for it. You are in control now, so why torture yourself so?"

Aglarel snickered wryly at some private joke. "Yes, I am in control _now_ – the time and effort I had to expend in order to quiet those destructive urgings is something I am less than proud of."

She stepped right up to him then, craning her head back to look him in the eye, ensuring that he didn't miss a single word of what she had to say. "How long it took you to return to yourself does not matter," Aveil murmured in a soothing, maternal tone. "All that matters is that you _did_. Now you know that the rage you feel can be quelled, and that it doesn't control you." She surveyed his face appraisingly, taking note of the last lingering traces of anxiety in the corners of his eyes and the set of his mouth, before asking, "How do you feel? Right here, right now. Don't think of what has been. Consider only your current state of mind."

The Fourth Prince closed his eyes briefly and inhaled deeply through his nose – for a fraction of an instant Aveil despaired, fearing that when next he opened his eyes they would be a deep and angry crimson – before looking back down at her, calmer now, more composed. The rich silver of his eyes washed over her, cool and somehow reassuring, a clear sign that Aglarel was in complete and total control of the urges he so feared. "I feel more at peace… more confident, I suppose. When I left you last night, I continued to struggle with myself." He lifted one hand, palm-up, for her to inspect, and with a start Aveil took notice of the dozens of angry white spots that marred his otherwise flawless black flesh. She didn't need to ask to know that the wounds had been inflicted using one of the caltrops she had enchanted with holy magic; it grieved her to know that those scars were self-inflicted and would likely never heal, but she knew better than to protest. Aglarel had already shared more of his personal affairs with her than she had ever dreamed he might, and the thought that through her own complaints she might stifle any forthcoming information was abhorrent. "Every time I felt my consciousness slipping I had little choice but to cause myself pain… Barbaric, I know, but effective."

"I had meant for those caltrops to be a preventative measure," Aveil admitted glumly, staring down at those white-hot scars with shame twisting the pit of her stomach, "not the instrument of your own self-mutilation."

"Don't blame yourself for this." Aglarel abruptly withdrew his hand from her grasp and dropped it to his side, where the scars were no longer visible. "I forbid it."

"As you say, Prince," Aveil agreed reluctantly, and turning she found that they had wandered far enough for the scene of the wedding ceremony to be in full view.

The rear-facing garden, easily the most lavish of all such structures that formed the grounds of the Palace Most High, was a quiet and lovely haven of fragrant, delicate blossoms. The trees and shrubs and flower pots were bursting with various blooms in hues of purest white and majestic violet, filling the air with their perfectly complimenting and delectable scents; they clung to the lattice arch beneath the wide balcony where the first Princess of Thultanthar would soon be crowned, they littered the cobblestoned path that was the aisle, they sprouted from every feasible surface as though they existed for only this day. They spied a few of Aglarel's brothers gathered beneath the floral canopy – Dethud, Mattick, Vattick, and Melegaunt – as well as a few members of the Upper Court who had already seated themselves among the benches nearest to the archway, but chose to linger near the outermost hedges rather than make their presences known.

"Soleil Chemaut is living a fairytale today," Aveil murmured reverently, obviously entranced by the otherworldly beauty around them. "I can only hope with all my heart that she knows such bliss in all the days to follow."

"If we keep to our vigilance," Aglarel reminded, "and devote every mote of ourselves to preserving her safety, I see no reason why she shouldn't." There was some inflection in his voice that seemed out of place, alluding to the idea that perhaps there was something upon his tongue yet unsaid, but Aveil waited patiently and he voiced it before long. "The drow's agenda concerns me. There are parts of his plan that he has yet to divulge."

"Something we will have to unravel later when we can be certain the threat to the First Prince's bride has passed," the Sceptrana reminded him delicately, and Aglarel heaved a disapproving sigh before turning his back on the ceremony and prowling back the way they had come; Aveil hastened to keep pace while still looking regal in her dainty heels, the sound of which was muffled by the neatly-trimmed grass underfoot.

No words passed between them for some time; it seemed Aglarel was lost in thought, brooding over some morsel of information that had vexed him for some time, but Aveil found her patience rewarded a second time in short order. "You were in the dungeons the day I tortured Zek Vandree. Do you remember well all that he said?"

The gruesome sight of the one-eyed drow being none-too-gently interrogated at the Fourth Prince's deadly precise hands seemed burned into the sorceress' mind's eye – she didn't think she could repress such grisly images if she tried. Rather than let on just how much the scene had unnerved her she said simply, "Well enough."

If Aglarel took note of her obvious hesitation, he did not let on; instead he stopped abruptly and turned fully to face her, a haunted expression on his face that made Aveil's heart jump into her throat. "I've been considering his most audacious claim – that the drow who have been infiltrating Thultanthar are acting as the Spider Queen's advance guard, and that this is but the first step in her grand scheme to declare war upon the city. I have been wondering if there was any truth to his words."

Aveil had never known Telamont's favored assassin son to fear anything, but she thought she glimpsed a trace of very real alarm in his features when he spoke those words. It prompted Aveil to say, "Even if there were, it can only result in the complete eradication of the city of Menzoberranzan. And that isn't to say the High Prince would see fit to stop there – I have no doubts that if he felt so inclined, he would raze the whole of the Underdark until every last dark elf was extinct."

There was an unspoken plea in her voice that Aglarel did not miss, an entreaty to cease such a destructive line of thinking for now and perhaps indulge in it another day. There was simply too much to be done, too many dark omens already looming on the horizon for them, that the thought of _war_ was inconceivable.

"Of course you are right," Aglarel responded placidly, the grim possibility shelved but not forgotten, and they made their way back to the designated meeting place without another word.

* * *

"I'm telling you," said Phendrana for the fourth time, "there is nothing to be gained in scouting the palace grounds like this. I know what I saw – I was with Soleil near the archway where the ceremony took place when the drow appeared and…" He broke off with a shudder, recalling the end of the mountebank's life with damning clarity, and found he could say no more.

"And I believe you now just as I believed you the first time you told me of your vision," Lamorak reminded him indulgently, "but I fear you are missing the point of this exercise. Aglarel has never been one to wait and allow events to play out as they will – he believes in being proactive, which is why he has sent us out here to investigate the gardens. If the drow are among us, is there not always a slight chance that we might stumble upon one and thwart these terrible events before they come to pass? Forgive me for saying so, but the most recent attack was a little too near to fatal for my taste."

"And mine." The thought that the debacle of the bridal masquerade had occurred barely twenty four hours previous was mind-boggling to the doppelganger, even with the ensorcelled ring that Brennus had crafted in secret resting snugly upon Phendrana's finger. "I am not arguing the logic in being proactive – I would much rather seek these assassins out than wait for them to strike, believe me – I am only saying that we would benefit far more from shadowing Soleil's movements since we know she is their intended target. So why are we out here, where she is not even in our sight?"

Lamorak's soft sigh of incredulity turned into a good-natured chuckle in response to the perplexed look on Phendrana's face. "Because it is her _wedding_ day, you insensitive fool. I suspect few brides dream of being watched over like a hawk – the idea is for her to enjoy this day, for her to look back at these memories with nothing but fondness. Or is that a foreign concept to you?"

It was so easy, walking amiably through the palace gardens and exchanging harmless jests with the Third Prince of Shade, to forget the foreboding conversation that had passed between them earlier that morning – already Phendrana could feel his guard slipping, could hear his mind justifying away Lamorak's uncharacteristic behavior. He suspected that if he spent much more time in Lamorak's company, whiling away the hours with such witty and enjoyable banter, that he would convince himself the whole uncomfortable exchange had never happened. He supposed that was Lamorak's plan, to charm him into forgetting his words altogether, and as much as it shamed Phendrana to admit it he was inclined to play along. Already the future seemed too bleak for him to imagine facing it without a friend beside him.

"Did you mean what you said this morning?" asked Phendrana suddenly, suspicious and confused and desperate all at once, and Lamorak offered him a sidelong smile.

"Every word," the prince admitted, "though were I you I wouldn't dwell on the matter too much. You will understand the meaning of my words in time, and when you do we will speak of them then. To do so now will solve nothing."

Phendrana opened his mouth – to agree or to protest further, he wasn't certain – before unexpectedly closing it just as quickly and frowning in the direction of the city gates; Lamorak followed his gaze without further prompting, curious as to what had derailed the doppelganger's train of thought, to find Lim Tal'eyve strolling through the front gates alongside a flood of common folk. They exchanged a glance at this – hadn't he been sent to patrol the opposite side of the palace gardens with Hadrhune? – before wordlessly moving to waylay the drow before he made it any further. Had they missed something? Had Aglarel given the drow-shade some additional instructions, and neglected to notify them?

"What are you doing?" Lamorak demanded as they closed the distance, and Lim stopped short and studied them with wide, panic-stricken eyes; it was an expression most unlike the drow, and it served to pique Phendrana's curiosity immediately.

"I beg your pardon?" said Lim confusedly, alternating looks between the prince and the mindmaster as though he scarcely recognized them.

Phendrana rolled his eyes skyward and had to remind himself that throttling a fellow council member was hardly an action befitting one of his station; instead he settled for clapping a hand down upon the drow's shoulder and giving him a little shake, more than a little perplexed when Lim reflexively flinched away from him. "Really now, this is hardly the time for your jests! _What are you doing_?! If Prince Aglarel finds you down here instead of patrolling the grounds with Hadrhune as you were instructed – "

Lim interrupted him with a slightly-hysterical laugh that had Phendrana and Lamorak exchanging yet another bewildered glance before saying, "Yes, well, Hadrhune has been known to bore me from time to time."

"Be that as it may," Lamorak conceded reluctantly, in a tone that suggested he felt the same where the seneschal was concerned, "I hardly think that is a viable excuse for abandoning him now, of all times." The Third Prince's eyes raked the drow's figure appraisingly then, some unspoken realization souring his features, before adding bluntly, "You changed."

"What?" Lim barked raggedly, anxiety coloring his tone for reasons they could only guess.

Phendrana, however, caught the prince's meaning right away. "Your clothes," he pointed out, drawing the drow's _piwafwi_ out wide with a sweep of his arm. "Did you go back to Villa Cambria just to _change_?"

Lim answered this inquiry with yet another laugh, but the timbre of this one was relieved, relaxed even; there was something off about the entire scenario, but Phendrana simply couldn't put his finger on it. "Of course I did," the drow scoffed, waving one hand dismissively. "I am rather vain, you see, and wanted to look my best for the occasion."

"Your honesty is rather amusing," laughed Lamorak, the last of his own suspicion melting away with his brightening smile. "I suppose you had better come with us… We are nearing the end of our rounds, and Aglarel will be expecting our report. I am sure both he and Hadrhune will have a few choice words for you."

Lamorak, it turned out, was only half right – Aglarel was hardly put out to find that Lim had abandoned Hadrhune for his own selfish reasons, more relieved than anything to find that the drow-shade hadn't been waylaid by the priestess they expected would make an attempt on his life before the day was over, but Hadrhune was just as furious as they had expected. The moment they had rejoined the rest of their unlikely companions the shadow sorcerer stalked wrathfully right up to Lim and seized him by the collar, his ceremonial fangs bared and his eyes glinting maliciously. "Have you no sense?!" he hissed, anger seething in every syllable he spoke. "When I turned back and found you gone I feared the worst! Had I known you would be content to abandon me at any time I wouldn't have bothered to concern myself with your welfare!"

Lim patted Hadrhune indulgently on the shoulder and gave him a placid smile, though it was keenly obvious in his expression that he was hardly concerned with what bothered the seneschal. "There there," he crooned, his would-be soothing tone mocking in a way. "You should know better than to worry yourself over me."

His eyes were darting about restlessly as though he was looking for something; Phendrana found himself increasingly bothered by the drow's out of character behavior, but couldn't bring himself to address it. He supposed he had acted strangely when he knew the threat of the drow psionist to be looming ever nearer, an inescapable omen whose time of arrival could not precisely be determined, and begrudgingly admitted he couldn't fault Lim his nervousness. The priestess could find herself in their midst in a minute, or an hour, or half a day, and there was no solace in such knowledge. Instead he found himself speaking reassuringly. "Fear not. No matter when or how the priestess chooses to reveal herself, her efforts will amount to nothing. You are in good company – your safety is as much a priority as Soleil's is."

More than one derisive chuckle answered his words, alluding to the fact that the doppelganger was stretching the truth, but Phendrana paid them no mind – he was too busy reeling over the shadow that crossed Lim's face as a result of his words. Though just as dark of skin as the rest of the shades there was something _wrong_ about his pallor, as though something about what Phendrana had said served to drain some of the color out of his complexion. The notion that something wasn't right presented itself yet again, but Phendrana sublimated it. He had no right to judge.

"The ceremony approaches," Aglarel reminded them, but his coolly businesslike tone didn't match the smoldering intensity of his eyes. "Let us go together, and remember – keep your eyes on Soleil as often as you can without drawing attention. None of us knows what form the assassin will choose to take, and we cannot afford even the briefest lapse in judgment."

* * *

Mourn fell into step behind the doppelganger and beside the one who called himself Hadrhune, relieved to find himself in the rear of their company so that he had ample time to master his own expression. Already he had given far too much away and felt that his flimsy excuse for a plan couldn't hope to serve him much longer – the doppelganger, at the very least, suspected that something was amiss. Inwardly Mourn cursed himself. What had he been hoping to accomplish, allowing himself to be spotted and dragged into their congregation? He had no hope of abandoning their company now that he had landed himself in it, for he didn't know the real Lim Tal'eyve well enough to know what sort of excuse he might make to escape them.

His mind was reeling with the snippets of information he had managed to glean since stumbling upon the prince and the doppelganger near the palace gates. How could they know of Quartana's impending arrival? The Spider Queen herself had orchestrated their movements in this most dangerous game, so how was it even possible that their enemies had hints of their passing? He had never taken much interest in the affairs of the divine and hoped for as long as he lived that he never again had to serve any deity as closely as he was now, but he couldn't help but fear that Shar, the goddess whom the Shadovar served, had taken a personal interest in the comings and goings of Lolth's children and had found some way to impart their plans to one of her own servants. But who? Mourn allowed his eyes to flit briefly over the five forms around him, quietly assessing but coming up short. This simply wouldn't do. He knew nothing of his adversaries, and somehow they had already anticipated his arrival!

Even more disconcerting than that, however, was the knowledge that the real Lim Tal'eyve had been in their company perhaps minutes before Mourn had happened upon them, and now he was nowhere to be found... That could only mean that Quartana had fallen upon Lim already. The thought made Mourn sweat, made his heart race with panic. He had orchestrated this plot so carefully – Xuntath Oblodra had even given his life to give Mourn this chance! – and if the sadistic priestess got her hands upon Lim before he had the chance to complete his mission…

That meant that he had to get away from here as soon as possible, but how? His current company believed him to be the real Lim, and even if he could orchestrate some clever escape his absence would give them reason to be highly suspicious – after all, the real Lim had already left them without warning or explanation once already. And even if he managed to give them the slip, where then would he go? The City of Shade was wholly unfamiliar to him, and he knew nothing of Quartana's intentions. If she had truly managed to get her hands on Lim Tal'eyve, where would she have taken him? Had she killed him already? Was she even now safe back in Menzoberranzan, enjoying Lolth's eternal favor for eliminating the one drow that the Spider Queen detested above all others?

Realizing that he was on the verge of doing something foolish and drastic Mourn dragged in a shaky breath, slipping one hand inconspicuously beneath his _piwafwi_ and clenching his fingers around the hilt of his starmetal dagger for strength; that gesture served to restore him somewhat to reason, and he considered the situation a little more calmly. From what he knew of Quartana she was possessed of a flair for the dramatic – for her, a simple and clean kill simply wouldn't suffice. If she could have things her way she would make Lim's death as elaborate as possible, knowing that such theatrics would likely heighten the Spider Queen's pleasure. And if that was the way she wanted things, she would need the same thing Mourn himself was now desperate for – _time_.

So the Spider Queen's game was coming down to the wire, but Mourn forced himself to remain as calm and rational as he could manage. If he hoped to thwart Quartana and save Lim he needed to keep a level head and think of a way to escape his present company, and their suspicions be damned. Their suppositions were not his concern – keeping Lim from harm was all that mattered.

He slipped his hand out from beneath his _piwafwi_ then and raised his head, hoping that he could retain in himself at least a fraction of Lim Tal'eyve's composure. He was resigned to the company of the shadow dwellers for now, but his circumstances were temporary.

Very temporary.

* * *

So far, the thing Phendrana most enjoyed about the ring Brennus had forged for him in secret was how _spacious_ his mind felt.

Aglarel had cautioned them to exercise the utmost vigilance during the wedding ceremony, and Phendrana never would have said as much aloud but he felt confident that he could have handled this task singlehandedly without feeling put upon. Following his transformation he had always felt moderately overwhelmed by his renewed mental facilities, as though he was capable of a great deal more than he had been before but he simply didn't have the capacity to accomplish all of the awesome feats now at his disposal. This was no longer an issue, and he suspected he would never again have those fears so long as he wore the ring upon his finger.

Often listening to the thoughts of others had felt like a chore before, like an unwanted facet of his life that he was powerless to avoid; it was a relief to find that now listening was as natural as breathing for him, and that the chaos of processing multiple streams of thought had been all but eliminated. It wasn't like listening to dozens of voices in a crowded room, each shouting louder than the next to be heard – it was more like he was deciphering his own thoughts, and focusing on one while tuning out the others required no extra effort on his part. He couldn't see Soleil, but he was so attuned to her presence that he could _hear_ her – and since he had made the conscious decision to listen, hers was the only voice he heard. She was nervous, wherever she was, and knowing that he had a minute or two to spare he subconsciously continued to monitor her thoughts whilst sweeping the crowd with his eyes.

Phendrana wouldn't have been surprised to learn that every last man had turned out for the wedding of First Prince Escanor to the High Prince's mountebank. The standing-room-only portion of the sweeping garden was filled with the members of the Lower Court, those of some distant relation to the Most High or illegitimate relations that the Princes of Shade chose to recognize on formal occasions; beyond the rear-facing gate the common folk clambered for a glimpse of their princess-to-be, though of course they did so quietly so as not to invoke the wrath of their sovereign or his powerful sons. The senior members of the Army of Shade had formed a loose perimeter around the garden, as always standing by in the event that the citizens of Thultanthar acted in a way that their betters found inexcusable. Within the perimeter the members of the Upper Court had congregated on either side of the petal-strewn cobblestoned aisle, seated in simple white chairs as befitting their station – among them Phendrana spotted Irileth, the daughter of Third Prince Lamorak, as well as Lux, whom the doppelganger had not been expecting to see in such company. He nodded to the latter of the two, one eyebrow raised in a silent question, and Lux answered him with the smallest of sheepish smiles. Phendrana supposed they would have a conversation about the boy's presence there at a later time.

The members of the High Prince's esteemed Shadow Court lined the cobblestoned pathway, which served as the aisle leading up to the spectacular lattice archway beneath the rear-facing palace balcony. The last time Phendrana had been here, it had been in pursuit of the first of the drow who had dared to trespass within Thultanthar – unconsciously his hand settled upon his breast, where he sometimes imagined he could still feel the bite of the cruel starmetal blade that had been so debilitating to his new body's impressive constitution. Though the same concerns of that bleak day still lingered upon his thoughts like a fog stubbornly blotting out the sun their worries seemed a lifetime away in that moment, the last handful of seconds before Soleil Chemaut appeared among them to take her place irrevocably at First Prince Escanor's side.

The aforementioned prince stood beneath the flower-encrusted lattice archway, a pillar of strength in his most regal set of black glass armor and the High Prince's own black velvet cape that cascaded down his shoulders to the ground. The crown he wore was a timeless piece called the Mantle of Anauroch, the first crown forged for High Prince Telamont – then called Lord Shadow - in honor of Thultanthar's return to the Material Plane after suffering seventeen grueling centuries in the lightlessness of the Realm of Shadow. The metal was onyx and the relic was set with intricately-cut black gems that were actually shards of shattered mythallars the Princes of Shade had collected from the ruins of a half-dozen Netherese enclaves, sister cities of Thultanthar that had not survived the cataclysm they called Karsus's Folly. No one save the High Prince himself had ever worn that crown prior to this day.

Second Prince Rivalen stood at his elder brother's side, the diamond-encrusted talisman blessed by his goddess around his neck and the Word of Shar cradled in the crook of his elbow; as the High Priest of Shar's faith he was responsible for joining the First Prince and the soon-to-be princess in matrimony. Phendrana had asked Lamorak what was written in the ancient tome but had gleaned very little information from the Determinist Prime, though whether this was because Lamorak was sworn to secrecy concerning the volume's contents or he didn't know himself was the doppelganger's guess. On Rivalen's other side stood High Prince Telamont himself – in his hands he held a small satin pillow upon which lay a diamond tiara set with the royal jewels of Thultanthar, five magnificent marquise sapphires that precisely matched the stone in Soleil's engagement ring. Phendrana knew that both ring and crown had been forged together, gifts for the first of the High Prince's wives that had been passed down to each successor Queen until the passing of the last, but he knew little of the late Queens of Thultanthar or even how many of them there had been.

Phendrana stood near the start of the aisle furthest from the archway on the right side, with Twelfth Prince Brennus on his right side and Lim Tal'eyve on his left; across from him Hadrhune stood with his eyes fixed upon a pure white calla lily petal at his feet, brooding silently. The doppelganger did his best to keep his gaze ever-shifting, worried that if his eyes landed for even a millisecond too long upon the prince beside him that their lives would be forfeit, and in so doing they fell upon Aveil Arthien at the start of the line on the left side directly across from Lim. Her fierce violet eyes were fixed unblinkingly on some point near the end of the aisle, and following her gaze Phendrana found that she and Aglarel seemed to be engaged in another of their wordless, eyes-only conversations. Not for the first time he wondered if the matching earrings they wore, black amethysts pierced through the helixes of their right ears, gifted them with far more than the ability to call for one another at will, but he chose not to dwell on it. Intruding upon their shared thoughts, if they were engaged in any, would be all too easy for him to accomplish if he set his mind upon it, but he refrained – he held too much respect for Aveil to violate her privacy so, and his fear of Aglarel had scarcely abated with the strengthening of their companionship.

There was a chorus of awed whispers rippling through the commoners nearest the gate and the members of the Lower Court, demanding Phendrana's attention; Soleil Chemaut had made her highly anticipated appearance, her eyes brighter than the sun and her face cream and roses and bliss. She was arm in arm with Fifth Prince Clariburnus, whom the doppelganger recalled Soleil had chosen to present her to her husband-to-be and the High Prince several months ago; Clariburnus was arraigned in full plate armor of black glass inlaid with ribbons of amethyst that matched the stunning violet of the mountebank's gown, though he had replaced his helm with the bejeweled crown that served as one of the badges of his station. They stood motionless at the start of the aisle just a few feet from Aveil and Lim, the focal point of thousands of adoring eyes, and while Clariburnus allowed his eyes to wander over the many faces in the crowd Soleil, Phendrana noted, had eyes for only one person.

The doppelganger cut his eyes to the opposite end of the aisle, to the place where Escanor stood waiting, and found himself struck momentarily dumb by the abject love and pride reflected in the First Prince's radiant grin. It made him wistful, made him long for the not so distant days when he had been courted by the prince standing silently and stoically at his side, and he found himself desperately yearning for a love like the one Escanor and Soleil had found. Had he known it once? Would he ever again?

For some reason he couldn't explain he found himself gazing blankly up the aisle at Lamorak, unaware he was even doing so until he heard the ghost of the Third Prince's voice wafting through his ever-aware mind. _You are considering all that I have told you carefully, it seems._

Phendrana found he hadn't a reply for that, and Lamorak didn't pressure him for one. He held the Third Prince's gaze for a few more moments, mulling the words over in his mind, until he felt another pair of eyes probing his face for clues and glanced to his right side. Brennus was motionless as a sentinel, none of Escanor's joy showing through in his expression; he alternated glances between Lamorak and Phendrana, his eyes narrowed and questioning, and the silent accusation irked the doppelganger enough that he averted his gaze.

That was when Clariburnus and Soleil made their way down the aisle, accompanied by a thoughtful and reverent silence as well as the soft _click_ of the mountebank's heels; Phendrana smiled at her as she passed, unsurprised when the gesture was not returned for now that she had spotted her beloved prince it seemed she was incapable of looking away. The moment her back was to them Hadrhune lifted his head a fraction and watched her go, a curious mixture of sadness and trepidation showing through his expression, and Phendrana noted it with a certain measure of alarm but had no way of making inquiries - the moment was sacred, and he would not be the man who ruined it. They bowed as she passed, awed by her beauty and inspired by her strength, the woman of common birth but indomitable heart who had steadfastly defended the descendants of Netheril unhindered by the shackles of the mortal coil; Phendrana wondered if he had ever found himself in the presence of anyone more deserving of this unprecedented honor, and knew before the fleeting thought had finished forming in his mind that he hadn't. She was the most pure-hearted and selfless person he had ever had the privilege of meeting.

He knew then that he would do anything to preserve her, would willingly die for her if need be.

Reaching the end of the aisle Soleil retracted her arm from Clariburnus's and turned gracefully to face Escanor; he stretched one hand out for her and she took it as she sank down to the ground, the skirt of her gown fanning out around her as she knelt as his feet. With her eyes closed and her head respectfully bowed the mountebank awaited the words that would unite them, and Escanor briefly squeezed her fingertips as if to impart courage.

Second Prince Rivalen opened the ponderous Word of Shar with all the care deserving of such a timeless artifact, and in a worshipful voice he began to read.

Phendrana was spellbound from the very first word. The scripture was in the Netherese tongue, an ancient language that none outside of Thultanthar could speak, and the dialect was as rich and intricate as handspun gold; Rivalen's voice rang out somehow, amplified by the primordial magic entombed within the fragile pages, and the fine hairs on the back of the doppelganger's neck stood on end as the sensation that he was in the presence of something far older and more powerful than anything he had ever known resonated within him. He didn't understand a single word but he felt uplifted somehow, as though with every passing moment the Second Prince's voice was bringing him closer and closer to some earth-shattering epiphany.

The silence that followed was heavy with ancient magic and an almost palpable wonder – Phendrana felt as though he was waking unwillingly from a glorious dream, suddenly very aware of the profound stillness deep within his chest where his heart had once beat. Then the High Prince moved right up behind his kneeling mountebank and placed the shining platinum crown upon the bed of her soft dark curls, bending low to place a gentle kiss upon her brow as he spoke a brief but heartfelt response in the same mystical language. He drifted soundlessly backward, his eyes shining with fierce pride, and lifting her head a fraction Soleil pressed her lips sweetly against the back of Escanor's hand.

Escanor tightened his grip on her hand and tugged her effortlessly to her feet, his eyes electric with excitement and jubilation and deep affection, and gathering her into his arms he kissed her with such enthusiasm that Phendrana felt intrusive just watching; when they broke apart Soleil laughed aloud once, the sound a pure and glorious pealing of a bell, and the joy in her face was so infectious that Phendrana felt his face split into an exultant grin. And when they turned to face the High Prince's loyal subjects, hand in hand as they basked in the joining of their hearts and souls, Rivalen closed the Word of Shar and raised his voice as though proclaiming a tremendous victory:

"Escanor and Soleil Tanthul, First Prince and Princess of Thultanthar!"

The resultant roar that arose from the thousands of Shadovar civilians who had gathered to bear witness to this most joyous event was enough to send a shiver of pure pleasure coursing down Phendrana's spine.


	14. The Second Union

It was a mild burning sensation that at last dragged Lim Tal'eyve back to consciousness.

The moment he opened his bleary eyes he winced and shut them again; there was a candelabra standing just beside him, the wicks of each softened candle blazing, and his light-sensitive drow's eyes were not prepared for even that amount of illumination. He cracked his eyes open a fraction a little more cautiously this time, tracing the tarnished bronze of the tall candelabra up to the highest reaches of the vaulted ceiling overhead. No light filtered through the unusually colored windows – how could it, when the world he had chosen to inhabit was nearly as bleak and lightless as the one in which he had been born? – but still he perceived the myriad of colors of glass and knew instantly where he was. Stained glass windows were not overly popular within the City of Shade - only the Church of Shar boasted such construction.

The candles were sputtering, flecking droplets of white-hot wax onto his bare chest; Lim flexed his arms with the intention of protecting himself but found them bound fast over his head, and it seemed his legs had been similarly restrained. The surface upon which he lay was horribly uncomfortable – was it an uncovered table, or simply a plank of wood? – and his back ached, but not half so much as the dull throb emanating from the back of his head. The pain jogged his memory and he recalled with a begrudging admiration that he had been caught completely at unawares, and that wasn't something that happened often. There was no doubt in his mind who had apprehended him.

Lim turned his head with some difficulty, his vision slowly clearing as his eyes adjusted to the candlelight and the heavy manacles around his wrists clanking in protest. The only other person in the room was facing away from him, meticulously arranging various trinkets and amulets upon a crudely constructed altar. He was familiar enough with Phendrana's vision of these events to know that the circumstances he had been warned about were at last upon him. "Ah, you must be the lovely Quartana Baenre. I have so longed to make your acquaintance."

She turned back and struck him, the ornate ring upon her middle finger splitting his lip, and Lim tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. Her obvious physical beauty coupled with the blatant hatred with which she regarded him transported him back years, to the days he had spent writhing in eternal agony at the torturous hands of the Spider Queen herself – for a moment he despaired, a cloud of doubt shrouding his thoughts as the prospect of being delivered there yet again, but he reminded himself that this priestess was no deity and commanded no such power over him. Quartana gazed down at him with abject loathing through her thick lashes, terrifying and sensual all at once. "I can only imagine how you managed to come by my name, traitor. Explain yourself. It is the least you can do to repay the Spider Queen for your inexcusable trespasses against her."

Though he was rather of the opinion that he owed nothing to the cursed Lolth or her blindly devoted underlings, Lim obliged her for the sake of conversation – the ever-prickly nature of that most faithful sect of drow females had long been his single greatest source of amusement. "I ripped it from the throat of Zek Vandree before I killed him." Which, of course, was an outright lie – the name had been deliberately dropped from Phendrana's tongue during his obviously-scripted visit to Rapha's harem, but in this case the truth wasn't nearly as entertaining.

Quartana's nostrils flared, for she was clearly enraged by his words, but in the depths of her crimson eyes Lim thought he glimpsed the barest trace of fear – it was an evident sign that her goddess' carefully-laid plans were perhaps not as foolproof as her emissary believed. In an effort to hide her moment of doubt she slapped him again, but such was Lim's enjoyment of her reaction that he scarcely felt the pain this time. Almost immediately afterward she seized his chin in one hand and jerked his head back around, forcing him to look her in the eye when she snarled, "You despicable cretin. You slaughter your kin for these shadow dwellers? You are no better than a dog, unthinkingly doing the bidding of your masters, chasing their heels and begging for morsels. Do you think they appreciate your efforts? Do you think your accomplishments will keep them from disposing of you when your usefulness has run its course?"

This observation hardly concerned Lim, whose intricate plans to elevate himself from useful to irreplaceable had long since been set into motion. "I might ask the same of you, Mistress Baenre. What do you expect to gain from your goddess in eliminating me?"

Predictably Quartana bristled as though his inquiry had mortally offended her. "My motivations are no concern of yours."

"Then you can hardly expect me to share my own," Lim replied simply, and he might have shrugged negligently had his arms not been bound over his head.

The drow priestess put him at her back again, busying herself about the altar; Lim caught intermittent glimpses of more candles, shards of obsidian, pinches of various alchemical ingredients, and smears of blood from some creature that had been unfortunate enough to cross Quartana's path. "It matters not," she told him loftily. "Shortly I will have finished all the necessary preparations, and then Lolth will receive your shadow orb and we will be rid of you and your treacherous ways for good and all. So enjoy these last few minutes of your life, traitor, for the moment draws near!"

"Oh I assure you," whispered Lim Tal'eyve in a dangerous and confident tone that sent a chill running down the priestess' spine, "I will enjoy the next few minutes immensely, but the life that ends shall not be mine!"

* * *

The damage to the ballroom was too widespread and extensive to be repaired in a single day, so the wedding reception was instead contained to the palace grounds. Members of the Lower Court wandered the well-manicured lawns at a leisurely pace, conjuring soft faerie lights in the shrubberies and trees and giving the grounds a mystical glow; others fetched candles and enchanted them to float off the ground, the illumination soft and intimate. There was gentle music emanating from somewhere though there were no musicians to be found, and a grand feast had been brought directly out from the palace kitchens to the candlelit terrace – the mouthwatering scents of roasted duck and seared salmon mingled with the subtle and sweet fragrance of the night-blooming flowers, creating a most inviting atmosphere.

"You might at the very least _pretend_ you are enjoying yourself," murmured Lamorak over the rim of his wine glass, and the sound of the prince's voice dragged Phendrana from his state of reverie; they were standing beneath the gently-waving leaves of a great exotic tree the doppelganger was unfamiliar with, and Phendrana had been silently scanning the faces in the nearby crowds with a downcast and brooding expression. He glanced unwillingly in Lamorak's direction when addressed - the faerie lights in the lowest boughs cast the Third Prince's face in hues of lavender and gold, a striking combination. Then again, there wasn't anything about the prince's formal dress and bejeweled crown that spoke otherwise.

"I am enjoying myself." Almost as an afterthought the doppelganger took a modest sip of Netherese heartwine; he had been holding the glass for a quarter of an hour and had almost forgotten it was in his hand.

"You are miles away," Lamorak argued, crossing his arms, idly swilling the contents of his glass with small but pronounced circles of his wrist. "You will displease the bride if she finds you in such a state of unease. What is it that troubles you so? Are you concerned for her well being? Or perhaps the drow's? Or is it your unresolved personal matters that plague your thoughts?"

Phendrana didn't immediately reply, for his eyes had strayed to the place across the courtyard where Twelfth Prince Brennus had joined a close-knit group of nobles from the Upper Court and was sharing a word with them; they hung on his every word as he regaled them with some amusing tale, and appropriately laughed at its conclusion. Brennus chuckled bemusedly and drank of his goblet, the candlelight glinting off his silver crown of amber and topaz and lighting up his eyes; he turned his head minutely then and caught the doppelganger's openly intrigued gaze, the molten quality of his bronze eyes flashing heat through Phendrana's veins.

Lamorak audibly sighed and turned away, venturing out from beneath the dome-shaped canopy with a sudden stiffness to his posture; Phendrana tore his eyes away from the youngest prince and pursued him in two quick strides, seizing him at the elbow. The look in his eye suggested that he had startled himself with his own unplanned movements. "Forgive me. I have no excuses for my rudeness."

"You have one very obvious excuse for your rudeness," Lamorak corrected him coldly, the absence of the faerie lights bringing a frosty and unwelcoming quality to his eyes. "I had thought you smarter than this, Phendrana."

The insult to his intelligence stung profoundly; Phendrana winced and released the prince's arm. "I'm not certain I know what you are referring to."

Lamorak took a step that brought him inside Phendrana's comfort zone, forcing the doppelganger to look him in the eye; his sudden intensity, coupled with his characteristic clinical expression, served to claim Phendrana's undivided attention at last. "I can understand your reservations here, my friend – you remember my words and you wish to keep me at arm's length, but you have misunderstood the context of them. You think me guilty of vying for your attentions? You view me as unwanted competition? If that is your opinion I can hardly convince you otherwise, but I feel compelled to warn you – the man whose affections you seek does not have the High Prince's favor, and he is here for appearances sake only. Were circumstances different he would be under lock and key at Villa Tareia, just as he was for weeks following your return from Castle Tethyr. Not only that, but he betrayed your trust – he forsook you in your time of greatest need. Yet with all these things in mind you would forgive him?"

Phendrana opened his mouth vehemently, teetering on the brink of defending Brennus to the last, but upon further inspection of Lamorak's words he found himself appropriately speechless. There was no integrity to be found in taking the loremaster's side here – all that Lamorak had said was true, no matter how much Phendrana wished otherwise. He understood the motivations behind the Twelfth Prince's decisions much better now, given all that Brennus had divulged the night previous, but did those confessions erase the emotional discord he had caused? If he shelved all of his anger and confusion and heartache, would he be the fool Lamorak was insinuating he was? Abruptly his indecision infuriated him and he growled through his clenched teeth, a rabid animal, a man possessed.

"What's in it for you?" he demanded in a low voice, determined despite his anger not to draw attention away from the bride and groom, who were not as far away as he would like. "Why do you concern yourself with my well being? When did my personal affairs become your business? What will you lose if I allow Brennus back into my heart and he breaks it again? What do you stand to gain if I renounce him?"

The Third Prince's hand clenched down around Phendrana's wrist with enough force to make the doppelganger wince, a silent and not-so-subtle warning that he was overstepping his bounds with every passing accusation. "Be careful, friend. You speak of matters beyond your station."

"You call me friend," Phendrana pressed stubbornly, "yet still you treat me like a child."

That brought Lamorak up short; he did not release Phendrana's wrist, but his grip slackened considerably. There was something in his eyes that suggested he had not been entirely truthful but was mulling over the idea of divulging something more, and at length he said, "You should be more wary of the truth, Phendrana. It is not always beneficial to know all."

"What do you mean?" the mindmaster demanded, and Lamorak let out a heavy, defeated sigh.

"I am _protecting_ you, you simpleton – surely you have gathered that much? And not simply from my tactless youngest brother, though I am certain you assume as much – no, I am protecting you from yourself, and from the High Prince as well. The predicament you landed yourself in those months ago is more delicate than you can comprehend, and not just for Brennus, of that you can be certain. Do you know how close you came to death? Do you know how closely you flirt with death still?" At last he released Phendrana's wrist and the doppelganger stumbled back a step, his expression appropriately alarmed, and crossing his arms Lamorak finished bluntly, "I thought not. But how could you? You are consumed by the wrongs you have suffered. You are blinded by the lofty accolades the High Prince has bestowed upon you. You do not realize that your safety is not yet assured."

"But how can you possibly - ?" Phendrana began earnestly, but the Third Prince cut him short.

"Are you really so narrow-minded that you think the High Prince enlisted me for the sole purpose of studying the mental abilities your transformation enhanced?" Lamorak hissed, his eyes darting all around to ensure they wouldn't be overheard, and at long last Phendrana understood the Third Prince's dedication to him after all this time.

"The Most High charged you with monitoring my movements," he observed, eyes and voice both similarly hollow. "You acted as his eyes while he ensured that I kept away from Brennus."

"While he ensured that you followed his mandate to the letter," Lamorak corrected breathlessly, and Phendrana found himself steadily backing away from him in horror.

"All this time we have been opposing Lim, assuming our actions were cunning enough to keep us from incurring the High Prince's wrath, but he knew." Phendrana couldn't recall a time he had ever felt so foolish, or so terrified. "He has always known." How could he have been so blind as to assume that they were clever enough to avoid scrutiny? How could they have dared to defy the High Prince's orders and hope that their betrayals would go unnoticed? "What will happen to us?"

Lamorak was keeping his distance but holding his hands up, palms forward, doing his best to appear unthreatening. "You are safe for the time being."

"How is that _possible_?" Phendrana snarled through gritted teeth, trying and failing to rein in his anger before it got the better of him. He knew how dangerous this was, venting his frustrations to the man who had only just proclaimed himself the High Prince's informant, but the sting of this revelation had cut him deeper than he could ever have imagined it would. He had known all along that getting close to another of the Most High's retainers was an ill-advised decision, but he hadn't heeded his own advice. He had thought Lamorak a more trustworthy sort. "I saw Brennus last night. I spoke to him. That interaction is surely enough to condemn me."

"The High Prince is unaware of any such meeting," Lamorak divulged, his eyes wide and pleading, his hands outstretched as though to soothe the doppelganger's troubles. "I have not brought it to his attention, nor was it my intention to do so. As I have said, you flirt more closely with death than you realize. One word from me now is all it would take for the High Prince to utterly destroy you."

"Then be done with it!" Phendrana bellowed, incensed, and a dozen nobles of the Upper Court whirled to investigate the disturbance. "Do not presume to – "

But the rest of his outburst was lost as suddenly Lamorak's eyes flashed, white and dangerous, and frozen under that glare Phendrana found he was powerless to protest the Third Prince's advance; Lamorak closed the distance between them and seized the doppelganger at the elbow, dragging him around the trunk of the great tree and toward the rear-facing garden, abandoned now since the ceremony had come to a close. Once certain they were alone Lamorak released him, though it was clear in his manic eyes that he was hardly less infuriated than before. "You will bring about your own demise if you cannot hold your tongue," he growled, his voice a low warning. "As I have said, it is not my intention to tell the High Prince of your meeting with Brennus… But only if you can promise it was an isolated incident, and not something you are prepared to repeat!"

"Why would you help me?" Phendrana demanded. "If the Most High catches wind that you have assisted me… You will be no better off if he finds out you have been withholding the truth!"

"How could I possibly bring you down now?" Lamorak echoed incredulously, waving his arms as if to indicate the bigger picture. "It is all on account of you and your visions that we have been so successful in staving off the advances of these drow assassins – the loss of even one member of the Shadow Court would be a catastrophic occurrence that would surely upset the delicate balance upon which we have established what remains of our society! The High Prince's retribution is swift and oftentimes thoughtless – when he is wronged he acts purely out of vengeance, and he would surely act thusly were he to learn of your trespasses. You cannot know how key your arrival into our midst has been, because there is a great deal that transpires beyond your notice, but you must trust me when I say that our entire way of life would be at risk were we to lose you now. That is why I have held my tongue thus far, and why I will take the risk in keeping your silence."

Phendrana ran a hand down his face in pure frustration, caught somewhere between eternal gratitude and all-consuming rage. "You have been using me to glimpse the future," he pointed out, his voice a challenge, as though he dared the Third Prince to argue this point. "That has always been your aim."

"The High Prince commanded me to befriend you, and to encourage you to divulge your visions as they happened," Lamorak confessed readily. "But is that so wrong? We are all that remains of the once-proud Netherese Empire… Were you the ruler of the last handful of such men, and you found your entire way of life threatened by enemies whose gazes seemed all-knowing, would you not use every advantage at your disposal?"

With those words Phendrana felt the last of his anger begrudgingly ebb away, for he knew the answer to Lamorak's question. It was another one of the things he had always known, for from the first moment he had set foot within Thultanthar he had been certain of his purpose there – to serve the Princes of Shade in all things, even if the thing that so served their designs was the surrender of his own life. Such was simply the nature of his goodly and self-sacrificing character – he couldn't rationally cling to his anger, when he had willingly offered himself up to serve such schemes from the very start. The realization that Lamorak had never truly been his friend was despairing, and he was immediately ashamed of how easy he had been to fool. At length he sighed and said, "Then our arrangement was simply a means to an end for you."

"No." This wasn't the answer the doppelganger had been expecting, and he couldn't help but look up; Lamorak was standing before him with a steely, self-loathing glint in his eye and a resigned expression upon his face, though otherwise he appeared quite calm. "I will admit that at first I was content to simply do the High Prince's bidding, but I allowed myself to become too involved with you; your silent battle with the drow, your reluctant partnership with Aglarel and Aveil, your opposition to Lim Tal'eyve… everything that you do fascinates me." His eyes glazed over as he recalled something from the not-so-distant past, his obvious interest more than a little eerie to behold. "To observe how your mind works is intoxicating… Never have I had the supreme privilege of studying anything quite like it before. That is how I know that you are irreplaceable to our sovereign, Phendrana. That is how I know that I must keep this secret for you, if I can."

"I have never been more than a curious specimen to you," observed the doppelganger with a wry smile, "have I?"

Lamorak shrugged sheepishly. "Perhaps more than that. Were you a curious specimen to me, I would surely have given you up to the High Prince by now."

There was no reason not to be grateful for what Lamorak had done, for his reasons weren't entirely selfish from what Phendrana could see; he accepted that for now he was safe, and decided to probe for more information while the option remained open to him. "What will become of Aglarel and Aveil? The High Prince must know that they have been working against Lim since he came here, despite the fact that he has our sovereign's approval."

The Third Prince crossed his arms and smirked victoriously – whatever he was about to divulge obviously pleased him greatly. "Lim is not as well informed as he thinks he is. Yes, the High Prince knows that Aglarel and Aveil have been opposing the drow at every turn, but he is hardly angry – on the contrary, he is grateful for their bravery and their diligence. Our sovereign is not as easy to sway as Lim thinks – to put it plainly the High Prince is still highly skeptical of their arrangement, and is hardly inclined to favor the drow's cause over that of one of his son's."

"They still believe their actions have gone unnoticed," Phendrana pointed out, and Lamorak nodded in agreement.

"And the High Prince wants them to keep acting on that assumption. Can you imagine how they might react if they knew the Most High was aware of their insubordination? They would take great care, and that is not what our sovereign needs – he needs their intuitiveness, their recklessness, their willingness to take chances to get results. He needs them to question Lim Tal'eyve at every juncture, because he knows no one else will."

There was no denying that the High Prince's foresight was astounding. "Then they will not suffer any punishment." Phendrana hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until the moment it escaped him in a rush, and he felt relieved. He had come to value Aglarel and Aveil's company more than he had guessed.

"If they hold to their current course they will remain blameless," Lamorak corrected meticulously, leaving nothing to chance. "There are many courses the future can take, Phendrana – but you know that better than anyone by now, don't you?"

Phendrana cracked an unwilling smile but it vanished just as quickly as it had come; a frown crossed his face when he mused, "Then it truly is over between Brennus and me, isn't it? The High Prince's wrath in this instance will never abate. We are destined to live our lives apart."

Lamorak shrugged and dropped his gaze to the petal-strewn ground, mumbling, "I cannot say."

Phendrana hadn't realized he had backed up to the first row of benches until he collapsed into one, feeling suddenly exhausted; across from him Lamorak was watching him sadly, rolling a violet clematis bloom between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand absentmindedly. The joyful sounds of the wedding reception echoed off the western face of the palace but the dark cloud of Phendrana's despair seemed to keep the jubilation from really reaching them; Lamorak didn't approach but chose to walk away, his eyes downcast and his thoughts sympathetic but resolute. He had vowed the High Prince that he would guide Phendrana down the path most favorable to them, and unfortunately that path was not the same one his youngest brother currently walked. Whether or not it would be at some point in the future, even the calculating Third Prince of Shade could only guess – he could only hope that the doppelganger continued to heed the wishes of their sovereign, not only for his sake but for everyone's.

Phendrana remained where he was, struggling with the difference between right and wrong and fraught with guilt at the notion of letting go; in the distance, the sounds of celebration filled the air like unbidden, discordant music.

* * *

Lamorak did his best to blend back in with the milling crowds of nobles, but his reappearance did not escape the notice of everyone; barely a handful of seconds had passed before he felt pressure at his elbow and heard an urgent voice in his ear: "A word, if I might."

There were witnesses all around, laughing gaily and partaking of the High Prince's lavish feast and fawning over the newly crowned Princess of Thultanthar; with a smile frozen upon his face and his gaze fixed stubbornly forward the Determinist Prime murmured back, "Now would hardly seem an appropriate time for this, don't you agree?"

"This may be the only opportunity I have left." The regret resonating in that blunt reply sent a chill down Lamorak's spine, and nodding once solemnly he allowed himself to be led to a much more secluded stretch of the lawn, where turning he found Brennus standing before him. For a moment he appeared to be himself again, quiet intelligence and optimism shining in his features, but then he smiled and that singular bleak expression served to shatter the façade. It brought to mind what Lamorak had thought all along, that his youngest brother was more broken as a result of the doppelganger's transformation than even Phendrana himself.

"You needn't worry," he found himself saying, and though Lamorak had always been on amiable terms with Brennus even he was surprised by the sincerity behind his sympathetic words – he wasn't ruled by his emotions like the Twelfth Prince was, nor was he completely devoid of sentiment like some of his kin. Logic ruled his life, facts and reason and things he could see and touch. "I will take care of him."

Brennus waved a hand negligently and barked out a hoarse, brittle laugh. "You don't need to assure me of that – I already have all the assurance I need. You have been taking care of him since the moment I lost the ability to do so myself, whether or not that was your intention."

Lamorak held his tongue on that matter, saying only, "You are very kind. The High Prince will remember as much before long, of that I am certain."

"Thank you," said Brennus softly, flashing another of those disheartened smiles, "for that generous lie, brother."

"The High Prince won't learn of last night's meeting from me." Lamorak wasn't certain why he felt so compelled to tell Brennus this. "You have my word, and I have already told Phendrana as much."

"I suspect that will hardly matter in the end – the Most High has ways of unearthing secrets, ways that make such verbal declarations seem obsolete." The loremaster's eyes were upon his mostly-empty glass of heartwine, his expression bitter and hateful; Lamorak found himself longing for the youngest prince's optimism, and briefly wondered if that was one of the things Brennus had lost. "He longs to be rid of me – not that I can blame him at this point. With my irredeemable offenses I have utterly failed him. I singlehandedly violated our most sacred tradition, the tradition upon which our entire civilization was founded. For what I have done, there can be no retribution."

Lamorak could think of the single contradiction to the loremaster's own words. "Phendrana may yet be your salvation. Because of the ring, his mind is keener than ever before – with its enchantments he saved Hadrhune's life, though even he cannot explain how he managed to do it."

The pride Brennus felt was evident in his face, as radiant as if the victory had been his own. "Yes. I watched him reinforce the shield Aveil had conjured – he was somehow able to make his mental energies tangible, and with that he protected us from harm." He chuckled indulgently then, momentarily awed by the limitless possibilities, and added, "If you devoted the rest of your life to researching his mind, I am confident that even then you would have barely scratched the surface of his capabilities. If the ring's enchantments don't unravel, and he continues to wear it, there is no reason why his powers won't continue to grow."

"And it is precisely for that reason that I believe the High Prince will spare you in the end," Lamorak pointed out diplomatically. "There is no denying that, at this rate, Phendrana will become stronger than any of us."

"Then he will destroy us both," said Brennus with a helpless little shrug, "and see to it that his power is never challenged."

Lamorak thought this was both an immature and radical view of the future, and couldn't help but suggest as much aloud. "Phendrana is blindly devoted to the High Prince, and to the advancement of Thultanthar – he believes that fate brought him here to help us achieve all that we desire and more, and that this is the higher calling he has longed his whole life for. I hardly think that the High Prince would ever think to dispose of such an irreplaceable ally... Nor do I think he would ever seriously consider eliminating one of his own sons, for that matter."

"We will see," was Brennus's vague reply, and he tipped the last swallow of his heartwine onto his tongue.

"It isn't only that." Lamorak's tone had distinctly changed, become intense and brooding; Brennus looked up in time to follow the Third Prince's gaze to one of the gazebos nestled within the quaint flora and fauna, where Aglarel and Aveil were entertaining twin princes Mattick and Vattick. As they watched Aglarel actually laughed aloud at something Mattick had said, and unwillingly it seemed Aveil's eyes slid sideways to watch him; there was a quiet fondness in the expression she wore when she looked upon him that made Brennus's insides feel warm with happiness, something he couldn't honestly say he had felt in many moons. "Phendrana's companionship has curious influences on people. His involvement in these affairs of late has strengthened many ties with the Shadow Court that before were tenuous or perhaps nonexistent. It could be that he is destined to become the point around which we rally, the one who unites us, encourages us to cast down our enemies and lead the last remnants of the Netherese Empire to a glorious new age. And if such a chain of events comes to pass, who will we have to thank?"

"Phendrana, obviously," said Brennus flatly, rolling his eyes skyward as if the answer should be obvious.

"No," corrected the Determinist Prime insistently. "You – the man who risked everything to save him. Never forget, brother, that if it wasn't for you he would not be here."

Brennus dropped his gaze to his empty wine glass, momentarily humbled into silence, and Lamorak allowed himself the ghost of a smile at his youngest brother's expense. The High Prince's qualm with Brennus's snap decision had never been the breaking of a centuries-long tradition, as the loremaster had always believed, but a question of how Phendrana's premature transformation from mortal to shade would effect the potency of his mental abilities. If it could be proved over time that the doppelganger was thriving, not struggling, Lamorak was confident that Brennus would eventually receive a full pardon and be welcomed back into the Shadow Court with open arms. The Mind of the Most High was arguably their most powerful weapon now – for all their strengths, the Princes of Shade could not say they had ever been gifted with the ability to glimpse even fragments of the future.

"Tell me," the Twelfth Prince began at length, his voice calmer now, his face serene. "What has he seen that has yet to come to pass?"

The question served as a grim reminder for Lamorak that despite the concerns they had discussed there were even graver events looming on the horizon; instinctively he scanned the milling crowds, his eye drawn easily to Escanor and his towering frame, and felt a bolt of terror spear through him when he realized that Soleil was no longer beside him. With urgency gripping him in icy clutches he whipped his head back and forth, silently praying that with each passing moment he might catch a fleeting glimpse of her exquisite violet gown or her radiant smile, but she was nowhere to be found; he strode toward the gazebo where Aglarel and Aveil were still chatting amiably with Mattick and Vattick, frantic now, with Brennus barking inquiries from just behind him.

"Soleil," he said curtly in lieu of an actual greeting, and there followed a tense pause as Aglarel and Aveil scoured the groups of nobles for the First Princess of Thultanthar and the twin illusionist princes stood there wearing expressions of utter perplexity.

"I saw her barely five minutes ago," Brennus spoke up, and they all turned to face him with desperate eyes. "She was speaking with Lim Tal'eyve, near the fountain – " They followed his finger when he pointed, " – and they set off into the gardens together shortly after."

"Why would he take her there?" Aveil asked them in a feverish tone, her face as pale as newly fallen snow. "He knows what Phendrana saw."

" _What did he see_?" Brennus demanded, but his words fell on deaf ears.

"What business could Lim possibly have with Soleil?" Aglarel pondered dubiously. "One could hardly go so far as to suggest that they are friends… They scarcely interact, and Soleil is barely fonder of him than we are."

But Lamorak was too preoccupied thinking back to answer right away, sifting through his memories of the last several hours, piecing every out-of-the-ordinary occurrence together in a way he hadn't considered before. He had been surprised to find Lim just entering the gates and disgusted to learn that the drow's innate vanity had driven him to abandon Hadrhune, but such behavior hadn't seemed that uncharacteristic and he had chosen not to dwell on it for long. There was simply too much to do and too many concerns that needed their undivided attention, and he wasn't ashamed to admit that Lim Tal'eyve was near the bottom of his priority list. But that didn't change the fact that between the time the drow had vanished without explanation from Hadrhune's side and the time he had appeared at the gates and followed them to the ceremony, his whereabouts were unknown.

Were they still?

"It isn't Lim," Lamorak breathed incredulously, scarcely able to believe his own words. "It's one of the drow."

* * *

The panic coursing through his veins was a sensation unlike anything Mourn had ever felt before; it consumed his thoughts, it made his heart race, it made him so short of breath that he felt as though he hadn't breathed in hours. He stood far enough off to the side that he didn't draw anyone's immediate attention but close enough that he appeared to be an active participant in the night's frivolities, his eyes darting to and fro as he kept a vigilant watch and perspiration beading upon his forehead. It was only a matter of time before his carefully crafted disguise wore off, and then he would be exposed and helpless.

He had reached the point of acute desperation.

Waiting around for the real Lim Tal'eyve to waltz back into their midst as though nothing was amiss was no longer a feasible option. The odds that he had run afoul of Quartana Baenre mounted higher and higher with each passing second. He couldn't take any more chances. He had to act now or lose everything.

His ever-wandering eye caught sight of the High Prince's dark-haired mountebank, the beauty who had just wed the First Prince of Shade, chatting quietly with the shadow sorcerer called Hadrhune. What he needed now was a moment alone to interrogate someone, anyone, who might know well enough Lim's whereabouts – where did he normally spend his time? Where was he most inclined to go? If he could retrace Lim's steps he would have a better chance of tracking him down – anything was better than standing here, waiting for his disguise to fade and give his true identity away. The mountebank was surely his best option – she had been flitting through the crowd since the reception had began, chatting with everyone in attendance, so surely for her to entertain him for a few brief moments wouldn't see so out of the ordinary. That, and she was human – he liked his odds against her better than he liked them against one of the Princes of Shade.

Mourn dragged a shaky breath into his lungs and wrapped his trembling fingers around the hilt of his treasured starmetal dagger, steeling himself for the next unplanned stage of this operation, and moved toward her in what he sincerely hoped was a leisurely fashion.

" – Just worry about him, that's all," the mountebank was saying, her face despaired and her words saturated with sympathy. "He's been through so much… I can hardly stand the thought of him being unhappy."

"Who could possibly be unhappy on a day like today?" Mourn asked, his tone light and jubilant, waving one arm to indicate the fantastical setting. From all that he knew of Lim Tal'eyve, the drow had a flair for the dramatic that he exhibited in even the most inappropriate of times; he clung to that knowledge now, praying for all he was worth that it would preserve him for just a little while longer. "The setting is lovely, the food divine. What could possibly be troubling you?"

"Not me," Soleil corrected distractedly. "Phendrana. I have hardly seen him smile all day, and now I cannot even find him to ensure he is alright."

Mourn knew that Phendrana was the doppelganger, one of the shadow-dwellers who had spotted him skulking near the gate while he had contemplated how best to seek out Lim – better yet he actually knew where the doppelganger was, and was certain he could use that knowledge to his advantage. "I saw him with Prince Lamorak not long ago, actually – " How he had managed to recall that name, he couldn't begin to guess. "They seemed to be at odds about something… In any case, Lamorak came back alone."

Soleil's face crumpled with distress; Mourn was acutely aware of Hadrhune's eyes upon his face, scouring his every feature with unnerving focus, but he kept his eyes upon the mountebank and his expression a veritable outpouring of sympathy. Surely the seneschal wouldn't be so bold as to accuse him of foul play _here_ , would he? "I should speak to him."

"I think the doppelganger isn't any concern of yours," Hadrhune put in coldly, watching Mourn defiantly as he said this as though silently daring him to argue. "You are a Tanthul now – he is beneath your notice."

"He is my friend," Soleil corrected at once, her rebuke a little sharper than Mourn had anticipated it might be, and though Hadrhune was obviously fuming he wisely kept his mouth shut. Animosity was veritably rolling off him in waves, and Mourn felt himself break out in a cold sweat again. It was clear from the shadow sorcerer's hostile behavior that he suspected Mourn of something, but _how_? "Do you know where he is?"

"I believe he is still in the rear-facing garden where the ceremony took place," Mourn brooded aloud, turning just so he could gaze thoughtfully in the direction he had seen the doppelganger and the prince sneak off to earlier, pleased when the mountebank followed his gaze with obvious longing.

Soleil turned her gaze back upon his face, her eyes searching and questioning – Mourn couldn't help but wonder at the open suspicion all of the High Prince's subjects had shown him in the brief time he had spent in their company, but whether it was because he was acting strangely or this was how they normally treated him he could only speculate. Gradually she seemed to reach a conclusion that relaxed her considerably, saying, "Would you take me to him?"

"Of course, Princess." He offered her an arm, careful not to allow his cape to ripple out too wide and reveal either his very telling weapon or the precious treasure he meant to deliver to the real Lim Tal'eyve.

"Soleil." Hadrhune's voice was low and soft, a warning and a plea all at once. His eyes swam with desperation, willing her to return to reason, but Soleil was a woman mostly driven by emotion and it was apparent in her expression that she had already made up her mind.

"I should at least determine what is troubling him," the mountebank said without hesitation, and to Mourn's surprise she actually looped her arm with his and flashed him one of her dazzling smiles. "Lead the way."

They maneuvered smoothly around Hadrhune – Mourn was certain he had accomplished the first stage of a seemingly impossible task – but then he felt the seneschal's hand catch him none-too-gently at the elbow and he whirled back to confront him, feeling his eyes grow wide with fear. Hadrhune stared him down, those amber eyes that looked so like Lim's boring holes through his skull, his teeth parting in an awful grimace to expose the ivory tips of those horrible ceremonial fangs he wore, and for a moment that seemed somehow to encompass an eternity Mourn was certain the shadow sorcerer would simply tear him limb from limb with his bare hands.

"I wonder," Soleil said in a steely-cold voice, effectively ending their silent standoff, "if it is not Phendrana who should be beneath my notice, but _you_ , Hadrhune. Do you not suppose that with the grudges you hold and the confrontations you continuously seek that you sow more discord in this place than Lim ever has? Perhaps the High Prince is right not to confide in you any longer. While your thoughts are bent only toward hateful designs you cannot hope to be any use to him."

A bolt of unfathomable pain crossed Hadrhune's face at her words, and he snatched his fingers back as though burned; turning away Mourn smiled victoriously and led the First Princess through the deepening foliage, inwardly acutely amused by her accusation. The shadow sorcerer's actions might have saved her, and now through her own stubbornness and sense of self-entitlement she was surely doomed.

He no longer cared who stood in his way. He was prepared to slaughter every last one of the cursed shadow dwellers if it brought him to Lim.

Starting with the newly-crowned Princess of Thultanthar, if necessary.

* * *

Hadrhune watched them go, rooted to the spot by a myriad of emotions that were largely unfamiliar to him – guilt and self-loathing foremost among them. The easiest means of confrontation available to him, of course, would have been to stop the imposter then and there – there was no doubt in his mind that the man standing before them, smiling Lim's easy smiles and speaking his familiar honeyed words, wasn't Lim Tal'eyve at all – but uncertainty and fear had claimed him and he'd simply done nothing. He'd let the High Prince's only daughter, the young girl their sovereign loved and cherished more than any other woman in the world, walk blindly to her death with barely a single word of protest. And when she died, he would have no one to blame but himself.

When she died, he would fall so far from favor that a lifetime of good deeds wouldn't be enough to redeem him.

He would never have admitted it aloud, but Soleil's words burned him as surely as if he had been standing within a pillar of writhing flame. The inferno wasn't born of the injustice he might have felt had her observations been unjustified, but the crippling guilt that now kept him from pursuing them. The guilt gnawed at his insides as though someone had unleashed a thousand parasites into his stomach, for she was _right_. The High Prince didn't confide in him, and he was useless in his eyes. He would continue to be viewed as such until he took the necessary steps to change that. The thing that had kept him from acting, he knew, was the emotion he was experiencing now that was the most unfamiliar of all – it was fear, a paralyzing terror so acute that when he looked into the imposter Lim's eyes he envisioned his own death at the drow's hands as vividly as if he had already glimpsed it with his waking eyes.

He had never once been afraid of dying before this day, not even on the handful of occasions he had come so near to death that it had seemed an inevitability.

For some reason he heard the real Lim's voice within his mind then, a ghost of the curious words he had spoken earlier that afternoon; at the time Hadrhune had been utterly perplexed by them, perhaps the most out of character words Lim had ever spoken, but now he understood them perfectly. _"Since yesterday I have wondered… whether this is the right course of action. I can't help but wish there was another way… The fact of the matter is I like you, Hadrhune. I very much enjoy your company. You are the only one who has never questioned me. The only one I truly feel I can trust."_ The memory almost made him laugh aloud. He had spent months working to keep the drow at arms' length for he considered him untrustworthy in all things, yet the sincerity he had heard resonating from these words made him wonder if Lim had ever spoken more truthfully in all his life.

Hadrhune thought of Aveil then, and couldn't help but despair. If he failed in this, the twisted and chaotic future that Lim had envisioned for her would surely come to pass. Did he still love her enough to intervene, to do _something_ that might alter the course of that awful version of events? Would there be any preserving the only woman he had ever loved when she was forced to marry a man she didn't love in return? Aveil Arthien was the epitome of passion, of recklessness and impulse and intensity and desire, and that woman would die too, in a way, if he failed to act. And even if he didn't love her anymore, why should that stop him? Didn't he have enough pride in the role he played for his sovereign and enough decency of character to do what was required of him anyway?

Perhaps Lim had been counting on that all along. Perhaps he had banked all his feeble hopes upon the disgraced Right Hand of the Most High, praying in the end that he found the courage to stand as their final line of defense, to play the rook.

Lim had believed that he was brave enough, but was he?

* * *

Phendrana stared down at the single night-blooming jasmine bud in the palm of his hand, his face beset with melancholy and his eyes wide and unblinking as he studied its delicate petals. He thought of poor, troubled, disgraced Brennus, whose only crime was his desire to preserve someone he loved no matter the cost. He thought of Lamorak and the complicated, undefined nature of the relationship they had, as well as how much was now riding on the Third Prince's vow to keep certain sensitive matters from reaching their sovereign's ears. He thought of the High Prince and how he would respond to the events now unfolding in the years to come. But mostly he thought of the blissful few weeks he had spent being courted by the Twelfth Prince of Shade, the delightful simplicity of their affair, and how he would give absolutely anything to relive that time again and again.

He was so engrossed in his own musings that he didn't realize he was no longer alone until a quavering voice, breathless with fear, managed to stammer out his name; the moment he looked up he felt a thrill of terror spear through him with such agony that it nearly buckled his knees, followed by a wash of guilt so intense he nearly vomited then and there.

It was Soleil who had called his name, a silent sob upon her trembling lips and tears streaming soundlessly from her too-bright eyes; standing behind her, irises brightening from amber to fuchsia and the last wisps of artificially-conjured shadows fading into colorless vapor, was the drow assassin whose attempt on the High Prince's life Phendrana himself had foiled. With one hand the drow had Soleil's arms pinned behind her back at a painful and awkward angle, and in the other he held the vicious starmetal blade against the tender flesh of the mountebank's throat. They were standing beneath the white lattice archway where only hours before Soleil had experienced what Phendrana was certain was the single happiest moment of her short lifetime; it was surreal and utterly inconceivable that she should now experience one of the most awful in the same place. Phendrana was aware that he had taken his feet but he could not bring himself to act otherwise, frozen at the thought of what might happen if he took even a step closer. And all the while he was inwardly berating himself for his own lack of vigilance – all this time he had been armed with a clear vision of what would transpire if he failed to act, and even with that wealth of knowledge he had been unable to thwart this inevitable event.

No. He hadn't even attempted to thwart it. He had allowed himself to become mired by his own personal affairs and utterly ignored the potential dangers presented to him. Had he paid attention to what truly mattered, he might have been able to alter the course that events had taken.

Was there still time to change it?

"I am certain that you aren't here to cause any harm to our noble princess," Phendrana began in a disarming, only slightly tremulous voice. "Surely if you tell me your true purpose here I could find a way to accommodate it. Let it be known to me, I beg you. I only ask that you don't hurt her."

"You'll find a way to accommodate me or I'll kill her where she stands," growled Mourntrin Auvryndar in a feral undertone, and though Soleil's face grew even paler at his words Phendrana was inclined not to believe him. The way his eyes darted about, animalistic and desperate, made the doppelganger think that the drow had pressing business to attend to elsewhere, and that he wouldn't have bothered with Soleil at all if some other option had presented itself.

Phendrana straightened, doing his best to appear unperturbed, and said, "I want your word that she won't be harmed. Once I have that I will help you, so long as it is within my power to do so."

"Very well," agreed Mourn feverishly, "but you know what will happen if you refuse to comply."

"Of course." The mindmaster clenched his left hand briefly into a fist before relaxing his fingers, just long enough so that he could feel the band of the ring Brennus had crafted pressing into his palm. He drew a mote of courage knowing that it rested upon his finger, enough to keep him from losing his composure in the face of Soleil's obvious terror. "Tell me how I can help you."

"Tell me where Lim Tal'eyve is."

Phendrana balked, momentarily at a loss for words. Of all the things he had been expecting the drow to demand, this hadn't been one of them. His confusion showed in his poorly-worded reply. "Do you not know? You were impersonating him."

Mourn growled and tightened his grip upon Soleil's arms; the mountebank gasped out a cry and a fresh wave of tears dampened her cheeks. Phendrana knew that, had he still be mortal, his heart would be bursting from his chest with panic. "I impersonated him so that I could move freely throughout your damnable city," he hissed impatiently. "If I knew where he was, I wouldn't have to resort to such elementary tactics. Tell me what I wish to know, doppelganger!"

Phendrana stood there, slack jawed and at a complete loss for what to say. In truth he hadn't the faintest clue where Lim might be, but knowing that this assassin had been wearing his guise for several hours gave him an idea. "The priestess must have waylaid him," he marveled, as much to himself as to Soleil's captor. "Surely by now she is preparing to sacrifice him to the Spider Queen."

"How can you possibly know about Quartana?!" Mourn shrieked, and Phendrana's eyes were fixed upon the knife in his hand trembling just millimeters from Soleil's throat. "How do you know about her plans to deliver Lim to Lolth?!"

"Please." Phendrana heard himself begging but didn't recognize his own voice – it was hollow and completely devoid of any emotion, a ghost of what it once had been. He was standing upon the precipice of irrevocable despair, envisioning the world without the First Princess of Thultanthar. "I can explain. I have been having dreams – prophetic visions of your arrival and the coming of your accomplices while I slept. That is how I knew to thwart your attempt on the High Prince's life those weeks ago. That is how I know of the priestess you call Quartana."

"And Xuntath? Zek? Nhilue?" It was only the name Zek that brought Phendrana to the realization that these were the names of the other drow who had infiltrated Thultanthar in their quest to eliminate those now closest to Lim, and he bowed his head by way of response. "You killed them all."

"Would you have done any differently, were our roles reversed?" Phendrana knew it was foolish to argue, but there was still a small part of him that hoped he could make this intruder see reason. If he could get him to drop his guard even an infinitesimal amount, get him to lower his weapon just a fraction, he could crush his mind with barely a thought and ensure Soleil's safety. "If the Princes of Shade infiltrated your homeland with murderous intent, would you abide their presence?"

"I don't give a damn about your detestable shadow masters!" Mourn howled, and as Phendrana watched despairingly the mad desperation crept into the drow's eyes and consumed him. There would be no reasoning with him now. "If what you say is true, and you've had dreams about Quartana sacrificing Lim to the Spider Queen, then you've seen where she's taken him. Now _TELL ME WHERE_!"

Phendrana held his hands up palms forward in a futile placating gesture, knowing that with each moment he delayed as he conjured up a plan brought them one moment nearer to Soleil's death. He could feel the mountebank's tear-filled eyes scouring his face, wordlessly pleading for him to look her way, but he steadfastly avoided her gaze – if he made eye contact with her now he would lose the last shred of his composure, and that was something neither of them could afford. "Let her go and I will tell you everything."

Mourn snarled his disapproval and pricked Soleil's neck with exacting pressure; Phendrana's eyes traced the single drop of blood as it traversed her skin to the hollow of her throat and quivered there in time with her quickened, shallow breathing, nauseous with fear. " _Now_. And don't think you can attack my mind to save her. You never know… my hand might just slip while I'm dying, and how would you explain that to your precious High Prince?"

"The Church of Shar." The words tumbled out of Phendrana's mouth so quickly that he was amazed he had correctly articulated them at all. "It's in the Upper District… Surely you can see it behind me? It has a bell, and a steeple."

"I know what a church looks like," snapped the drow impatiently, though his eyes did flit momentarily over Phendrana's shoulder, perhaps to calculate the distance from the palace to the church. There was something in his expression that made Phendrana think that the confrontation was coming to a close, and the thought seized him with a panic the likes of which he had never known; it drove him to say something, anything just to keep the drow's attention, for he was no closer to formulating a plan to keep Soleil from further harm than he had been before.

"Why would you kill him? Do his trespasses against the Spider Queen offend you so much that you would risk your own life infiltrating a foreign land just for a chance to claim his?"

"Kill him?" Miraculously the desperation flew from the drow's features; something about Phendrana's words seemed to have brought him back to his senses. He tilted his head minutely to one side, his eyes narrowed into suspicious slits of striking fuchsia, and without warning burst into a peal of laughter that actually made the doppelganger flinch. "Are you mad?! I don't want to _kill_ him, you fool, I'm here to _help_ him. I've been looking for him ever since Drako Falconis and Aveil Arthien murdered him within Castle Perilous, and if Quartana is still alive when I track him down I'll kill that bitch too."

Phendrana's head spun – this wasn't what he had expected to hear at all. "But why – ?"

" _I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR YOUR QUESTIONS!"_ shrieked the drow in a sudden fit of rage, and before Phendrana could speak another word Mourn tightened his fingers upon the hilt of the dagger and struck the fatal blow. Phendrana was prepared for the stream of sickening crimson, for the all-consuming loss, for the life to leave the mountebank's vibrant eyes –

Nothing happened.

"What?" Mourn seized a handful of Soleil's hair and tugged her head back none-too-gently, exposing her completely unblemished throat, and the desperation crept back into his eyes when he noticed that his intended victim was unharmed. With a snarl of denial he plunged the knife into her chest – Phendrana cried out in horror – but the result was the same; the blade vanished the instant before it could break the skin, leaving Soleil without a single scratch. Soleil's eyes fluttered as she wavered on the edge of consciousness, unscathed but bewildered –

Mourn shoved her away, panic-stricken, and ran, leaving Phendrana standing there feeling just as numb and breathless as before.

"Phendrana!" came a frantic cry, and his body turned of its own accord to identify the speaker; Lamorak was rounding the corner of the palace walls at a sprint with Brennus, Aglarel, and Aveil following close at his heels, their faces a collection of grimly expectant expressions. Aglarel and Aveil fell upon Soleil immediately, who aside from the tiny rivulet of half-dried blood staining her throat appeared to be unharmed, and seizing the doppelganger's arms Lamorak gave him a jarring shake. "Are you alright?! What happened?! Where is the drow?!"

"Who did it?" Phendrana questioned monotonously, his head now spinning so violently that he feared he would either be sick all over the Determinist Prime's robes or swoon for the ground. "Who saved her?"

"Get her out of here!" Aglarel roared, his eyes wild and his anger rolling off him in nearly-visible waves, and for once Aveil didn't have a snide remark with which to respond; with a swift nod she heaved the mountebank to her feet and dissolved into a shower of shadow particles, bound for some unknown destination where Phendrana hoped no further harm would befall them. Then the Fourth Prince was on his feet, his eyes darkening to a manic shade of crimson that sent a thrill of dreadful anticipation through Phendrana's belly, and he approached them with a demented grimace upon his face as he said, "Lamorak, we cannot delay. This infraction is inexcusable. We are responsible for bringing the High Prince's wrath down upon the princess's would-be killer, and woe betide us both if we fail in this."

Lamorak bowed his head briefly and inhaled slowly through his nose – Phendrana got the impression the Third Prince was working to compose himself, to suppress the rage he was surely experiencing on the princess's behalf – before glancing back over his shoulder to regard his brother. "Yes," he agreed monotonously, and sparing Phendrana one last glance he released him and followed after Aglarel; the coldness with which Lamorak regarded him burned Phendrana like frozen iron, despite the fact that his hands upon his upper arms were like fire.

"This fight is also mine!" Brennus reminded them, enraged at the oversight, but Aglarel was unrepentant.

"The High Prince has made it clear that your direct involvement in these matters is prohibited," the Fourth Prince told him remorselessly. "Whether you are guilty or innocent is not my decision to make, brother. I will stand by the High Prince's decree – stay out of this." And then the two of them were gone, vanishing in a scattering of shadow particles just like Soleil and Aveil. Brennus opened his mouth vehemently, a tirade upon his lips, but Phendrana swiftly overrode him.

"Will you argue, or will you act?" snapped the doppelganger, and though Brennus turned his dark gaze upon him Phendrana did not submit. "They are looking for the drow, that much is true, but they can't know where he has gone."

"And you know?" Brennus wondered aloud, hardly pleased by the prospect, and Phendrana dropped his gaze to the ground, ashamed but resigned.

"Of course I know," Phendrana admitted softly. "I have seen it already. His real target is Lim Tal'eyve, and I dreamt that the priestess who takes his life took him to the Church of Shar – she wishes to sacrifice him to the Spider Queen, as well as desecrate the Night Mother's temple to ensure that we appear unworthy in her eyes. I cannot say how he means to accomplish it, but the drow let slip that he is not here to cause us any harm – he means to help Lim."

Brennus moaned and ran a hand down his face. "You mean to tell me that you had the opportunity to eliminate him and you let him escape? Phendrana… there is no proof that his words hold any truth to them. A man who is cornered will say anything if he thinks his life might be spared."

"There is truth to them," Phendrana insisted stubbornly. "Lim has been saying all along that the means to eradicate Lolth is being brought to him by some unknown party – Hadrhune told me as much last night, during the bridal masquerade." He darted out one hand impulsively and grasped Brennus's hand, squeezing his fingers tightly, desperate now. "Brennus… If there is even the slightest possibility that this drow carries that which Lim has been waiting for, we have a duty to ensure that he delivers it to Lim. What if he truly possesses the means to destroy the Spider Queen – the Night Mother's eternal nemesis! – once and for all?"

The Twelfth Prince's face appeared at first glance impassive, but Phendrana knew that face well and detected the undercurrent of fury beneath his expressionless façade. "This drow attempted to murder Soleil, whom you are now bound to protect just as surely as you are bound to protect my brothers and me. If you are wrong… aiding a fugitive of this nature would be a further disgrace to my name. What you speak of is treason."

"And if I am right, and you are solely responsible for recovering the means to annihilate a goddess, it will surely redeem you," Phendrana countered quietly. "It may be the only thing now that can."

Brennus stared back at him silently for a moment, his bronze eyes hard with something that could only be loathing, but Phendrana continued to gaze back at him placidly. He already knew the outcome, just as surely as he knew that Brennus would agree to whatever he proposed in the end. The lure of returning to the High Prince's favor was just too strong – any of his brothers would have leapt at the chance, for it was the thing they all coveted most of all. At last the loremaster sighed, closing his eyes as though pained at the task that awaited him, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger to quell his mounting irritation, and said, "Then I must take yet another risk, it seems."

"Then you had best be quick," Phendrana urged him feverishly. "Every moment you delay is a moment Lamorak and Aglarel might stumble upon the drow, and I needn't tell you how that confrontation will end if it comes to pass."

"You are not coming?" A flicker of uncertainty crossed Brennus's face, but Phendrana stood firm.

"That would be most unwise. We are forbidden to be in one another's company, and if these events play out the way I suspect they will I would prefer the credit to be yours and yours alone." The doppelganger cracked an unwilling smile then, finishing, "You shouldn't share your laurels with others, you know. No one else needs the gift of the High Prince's bounty more than you."

"I suppose that's true," the Twelfth Prince agreed at last, even as his features blurred and were lost in the dissolving of his body into shadow.

Alone at last, Phendrana allowed his shoulders to slump a fraction as the first hint of debilitating despair began to creep like numbing poison through his extremities, and closing his eyes he allowed his mental influence to probe the surrounding area for nearby presences he hadn't been aware of before in his distracted state. What had happened before when the drow had tried to strike Soleil down was not a new occurrence to him – he had actually witnessed it once before a few years previous, and knowing the truth of how the mountebank was spared made him feel physically ill.

On the first day he had chosen to reveal his true form to those who had once been dearest to him, Phendrana had nearly lost his own life in the protection of someone he loved. He had charged into battle against Daermond, a rakshasa of considerable mental prowess, for he had been blind with fear at the thought of what might happen to Captain Alvaro Rosalles, the seafaring mercenary who had been the doppelganger's first real love, if he continued to hide behind the guises of the six deceased heroes he had assimilated into his own mind. Going into that battle he had solemnly sworn to himself that he would do anything to preserve Rosalles' life, even if it meant sacrificing his own – and that worst-case scenario had nearly come to pass when he impulsively invoked the power of a rare relic he had recovered from the gloaming Zerena as she lay dying in his arms. The relic was called a Torc of Heroic Sacrifice, and when its wearer invoked its magic he could bear the physical wounds inflicted upon another himself. He remembered the blow Daermond had dealt. He remembered the awful cursed blade as the rakshasa plunged it through Rosalles' torso. He remembered the searing, unimaginable pain as he held the Torc in his hand and took the wound upon his own flesh, as surely as if he had been the rakshasa's intended target. Had it not been for the unexplainable powers of the six heroes who had lived within his mind back then, Phendrana would surely have perished.

He hadn't used the Torc of Hreoic Sacrifice since that day, but he had never gotten rid of it. He recalled precisely where it had been the last time he had seen it, upon the mantle of the fireplace within his private chambers only a few days ago.

He had thought it most curious when the item had vanished without a trace just yesterday, but now he was certain he knew where to find it.

"Is someone else there?" he asked quietly, amazed at how the words died upon the suddenly-freezing air, and he half hoped no one would answer.

There issued a very wet, very weak cough from somewhere not far away, and Phendrana instinctively followed the sound with leaden feet as the dread coursed, viscous and congealed, through his veins.

Beneath a magnificent river birch tree he found the once-proud shadow sorcerer Hadrhune, his amber eyes staring lifelessly up at the gently-swaying branches; around his neck he wore a thick ribbon of black velvet that bore an oval-shaped jade stone nestled within a bed of platinum filigree - the cursed Torc that he had stolen from Phendrana, distinguishable even stained with the seneschal's black shadowblood.

Phendrana sank to his knees at the shadow sorcerer's side, his hands hovering helplessly over the seneschal's swiftly-fading body. Already the protective veil of shadows that usually clung to his form had completely evaporated and the wounds he had accepted as his own were clearly visible; the black spatters of shadowblood at his throat and chest were already pooling beneath him, a stark contrast to the lovely bed of white and violet flower petals upon which he lay gasping feebly for air. Phendrana remembered what High Prince Telamont had told him about starmetal and knew that Hadrhune couldn't be long for this world – even if their sovereign appeared at that very moment, it was highly unlikely he could repair the brutal wounds the drow had unknowingly inflicted upon Hadrhune. Instead he continued to kneel there, despaired at the prospect of such a grievous loss as the awful memories of the deaths of his six lost ones flashed before his waking eyes, and abruptly he found he knew precisely what he needed to do.

Leaning slightly forward he slipped the precious ensorcelled ring off his finger, took one of the seneschal's bloodstained hands in both of his own, and drew a ragged, resigned breath.

"Don't," croaked out Hadrhune, and the single watery syllable nearly broke Phendrana's resolve. There was no misunderstanding the tone of the seneschal's voice, a man resigned to a fate he had chosen for himself. He desired death now more so than anything else, perhaps even believed that it was all he deserved, and it saddened Phendrana to think that in a way he would be denying Hadrhune his life's last wish.

"We need you." Who else had the courage to do what Hadrhune had done? Wasn't that worth preserving in any way possible?

"Don't," Hadrhune reiterated, his voice only just audible, and barely a moment later the last outlines of his body faded into nothingness and his shadow orb shriveled and disintegrated in the doppelganger's hand.

"I have to," murmured Phendrana sadly to the grains of black dust in his palm, even as they slipped through his fingers and vanished upon a breeze.

* * *

Mourn kept to alleys and the shadows cast by the taller structures in the Upper District as he ran, his eyes upon the steeple of the Church when he felt certain his footing was sure enough. He knew that his path was taking him out of his way, but despite the dire circumstances he simply couldn't bring himself to compromise stealth for speed. Now that he had revealed himself to the doppelganger, stealth was his only ally; he had no doubt that the Princes of Shade were aware of his presence now, and it was only a matter of time before they gave chase. If they caught up to him before he had the chance to reach Lim Tal'eyve…

He shook his head vigorously, dispelling the gruesome suppositions from his mind before they could truly manifest. The consequences of his actions were something he had accepted years ago, and he no longer had any right to fear them – on the contrary he would relish them if only he could complete this one great task he had been given. Little else would matter if the end of the day found him successful in his endeavors.

The alley down which he had been racing abruptly ended in an open cobblestoned street and he had no choice but to pause, skulking within the last of the shadows that were now his only protection from this hostile environment. The church the doppelganger had claimed to be Lim's current location was now so near that Mourn had to suppress the urge to cry out in frustration, for what would it solve but to alert those pursuing him of his position? All that separated him from his destination was a single avenue about thirty feet across, two more alleyways, and the elaborate stone courtyard that led up to the church's entrance. Given that the wedding ceremony had long since ended and the commoners were strictly forbidden from attending the reception on the palace lawn the streets were now lined with passerby, merchants and artisans and soldiers and scholars returning to their daily duties. Mourn gritted his teeth, poised to sprint the length of the street at the first available opportunity, but seconds continued to slip by and no such chance presented itself.

Could he outrun anyone who might catch a glimpse of him? How quickly would these eyewitnesses be able to get word of his passing to someone of authority?

Suddenly he felt a disturbance in the very air around him, and casting a surreptitious glance over his shoulder he watched with horror as one of the Princes of Shade stepped out of a rift between dimensions, materializing at the other end of the alley in a flurry of black shadow particles; Mourn was certain it was the one he had fought in the palace gardens on the night he had failed to assassinate the High Prince, but the eyes glaring out at him from within the prince's shadow-swathed face were a smoldering shade of livid crimson that struck Mourn momentarily numb with fear. Instinctively he took a step backward, keen now to put as much distance between himself and the prince with the awful ruby eyes as quickly as possible –

His back connected with something and he whirled back, and his heart stuttered uncomfortably within his chest as he came face-to-face with Lamorak, the prince who had been entertaining the doppelganger within the palace courtyard. The prince bore down upon him, his ceremonial fangs glinting wickedly in the sparse light of the alley and his pale silver eyes scorching Mourn's flesh like a subzero blast of wind –

A hand seized him at the shoulder with crushing force, wringing an unwilling cry from Mourn's lips, and even as Lamorak was reaching for him with serrated shadow claws he found himself being dragged backward into a curtain of impenetrable darkness. For a handful of excruciating seconds he lost all sense of direction and saw only darkness, until without warning he found himself toppling backward into the lightless void that was the Realm of Shadow. Glancing up he recognized yet another Prince of Shade, the one with the eyes of molten bronze, and Mourn scooted backward in an attempt to keep the distance between them.

"Hurry!" hissed the bronze-eyed shade, thrusting one hand out in Mourn's direction to help him off the ground, the desperation in his voice warring with the disgust in his face. "Any moment they will be upon us!"

Mourn groped for the starmetal dagger that rested always within the folds of his cloak, regaining his feet as he brandished the weapon before him and standing his ground as he prepared to defend himself despite the terror now gripping him in its icy, constricting clutches. "Keep away from me, shadow-dweller! This is your only warning! Don't stand in my way!"

"Stay your weapon, fool!" bellowed the prince, his voice oddly distorted by the thick curtains of gently-undulating shadow that perpetually blanketed that bleak dimension. "If you ever want to reach Lim Tal'eyve you will follow me, and if you threaten me a second time I will make your death truly monstrous! Now make your choice! There is no time!"

Through the presence of some preternaturally keen ulterior sense Mourn hadn't known he possessed he sensed that the prince's words held some truth to them; somehow he could feel the menacing, murderous presences of other shadow creatures dwelling in the darkness not far from where they lingered. Whether the malevolent glares he felt upon him were the eyes of the Princes of Shade or other foul, more primitive shadow beasts lurking nearby he couldn't tell, but instinctively he knew that to hesitate was to perish. It made his skin crawl to take the prince's hand and allow himself to be dragged to his feet but Mourn swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat, and when the prince turned his back and dashed into the seemingly endless expanse of shadows Mourn steeled his own resolve and followed closely behind, determined not to become lost in that desolate place as it was all that now stood between him and fulfilling his ultimate goal.

As they ran a cacophony of furious shouts echoed behind him, a sure sign that they were being pursued, and it prompted Mourn to ask an important question. "Why would you help me? I can hardly be called a friend to Thultanthar."

"Make no mistake," came the harsh reply from ahead of him, "you are more my enemy than anyone else now in Shade Enclave. Still, the other half of my soul thinks that in aiding you in rescuing Lim Tal'eyve I might yet redeem myself in the eyes of my sovereign, and damned if I haven't run out of options at this juncture."

"The doppelganger told you all this?" Mourn repeated, his chest aching with the effort of running and conversing simultaneously.

"Phendrana has glimpsed Lim's death at the hands of a drow priestess – given the delicate nature of my own situation I cannot say that I am privy to more than those sparse details." There was a note of bitterness in the shade prince's tone, but Mourn couldn't bring himself to feel pity on his behalf. "From what I understand, Lim has mentioned on numerous occasions that he has been waiting for someone outside the city to bring him something – something of great power that he intends to use to usurp the Spider Queen from her abyssal throne. This outlandish promise of his is the only thing preventing the High Prince from killing Lim outright – " An involuntary shudder ripped down Mourn's spine at the thought. " – Or so I have been led to believe. Yet, Phendrana has reason to believe that there is some truth to all that Lim has said, and if there is even the faintest possibility that Lim's outrageous plan might benefit us I can hardly refuse the chance to ally with him. At present I am hardly the High Prince's most trusted advisor, but if I were to have a hand in Lolth's downfall…"

Mourn sneered at the shade prince's back in disgust. "Then you have no interest in whether Lim lives or dies – you're only looking out for yourself."

The prince halted in his tracks and turned back, a maniacal glint in his bronze eyes, and with a smirk he replied, "Perhaps in that regard the drow and the Netherese are one in the same." Then his hand landed upon Mourn's shoulder and he shoved with enough force to send the drow reeling backward, right through yet another tear in the dimensional fabric and back onto the Material Plane.

Only through a combination of his own characteristic grace and impeccable reflexes was Mourn able to land lightly enough on his feet to avoid drawing any unwanted attention his way; he turned his landing into a soundless crouch and listened hard, his eyes darting around for clues as to where the shade prince had taken him. At first glance he was certain he had landed right in the middle of the Church of Shar; he had materialized behind a black marble pew on the right-hand side of the congregation, the last row of hundreds of such structures leading up to one of the grandest altars the drow assassin had ever set eyes upon. The rest of the great hall was devoid of any life – the bell in the steeple wasn't ringing, so Mourn supposed there wouldn't be a service in session anytime soon – save for the single figure standing in a place of honor at the head of the hall. Mourn recognized Quartana Baenre instantly by the way she wore her snow-white hair in an elaborate chignon and the cold gleam of her dull crimson eyes; with one hand she was rippling her fingers through the physical portion of an incantation – Mourn could hear the cadence of the words as she whispered them beneath her breath, but specific syllables escapes him – and in the other she clutched a ceremonial dagger whose hilt was fashioned in the shape of a black widow spider. Mourn's eyes fell upon the altar beside which the priestess stood, its surface littered with all manner of sacrificial effects, and for a moment his heart stopped – there, bound upon the hard obsidian surface of the altar, was Lim Tal'eyve.

Mourn moved swiftly and silently up the aisle, keeping his body as low to the floor as he could manage while slipping his hand within the inner folds of his cloak to grasp at his treasured starmetal blade. The anticipation was a tangible thing that he swore he could nearly taste upon the air, intoxicating in its desirability – one more hurdle, one more bloody death, and at long last he could complete the task that had been assigned to him all those years ago. When he struck down the daughter of the iron-fisted House Baenre, every priestess in every drow city littered throughout the vast Underdark would feel the intensity of the blow.

Three pews from the front he watched in horror as Quartana hefted the blade into the air, the candlelight dancing coldly along the cruel contours of the knife edge, and Mourn knew he was out of time to prepare.

The muscles in Quartana's raised arm tightened as she stabbed the dagger down, and with twenty feet yet between them Mourn could think of only one way to thwart the stroke – he whipped his arm forward and threw the starmetal dagger end-over-end, watching with bated breath as it traversed the distance between them with agonizing slowness. The throw was less than perfect – Mourn had been aiming for the priestess's heart and cursed his inaccuracy relentlessly beneath his breath – but despite the fact that it didn't find its mark he still managed to strike the knuckles of her dominant hand with the hilt of the blade with enough force to jar the dagger from her fingers. The elaborate blade clattered to the floor and skittered away beneath the pews on the left side of the congregation, and Mourn's own dagger fell to the ground at Quartana's feet.

"Insolent male!" she shrieked, snatching the scourge of vipers from her belt and lashing out at him with a single powerful stroke of her arm; Mourn strafed to the left, caught his foot upon the base of a pew, and nearly fell, but even so he still managed to avoid the initial blow and the sentient vipers tore through the trailing hem of his cloak with their vicious, poison-tipped fangs. "I knew you couldn't be trusted! You will suffer a fate worse than death for this interference!"

She snapped her arm again, catching Mourn slightly off his guard with her backstroke, and the best he could do to avoid it was to stumble forward; five of the writhing viper lengths sailed harmlessly by on his right side, but the other two twisted their diamond-shaped heads at the last instant and their needle-sharp fangs found purchase in the deltoid and bicep of his right arm. Mourn grimaced and ripped his arm free of their fangs immediately, but already he could feel their deadly poison speeding through his veins – the vipers secreted a toxin that could speed the heartbeat of any living creature, and if enough of that substance made its way into his heart he knew the organ would burst. If he was soon to die, he decided grimly, he needed to do away with the priestess quickly. He needed to deliver what he had been carrying all this time before his strength failed him.

Mourn leapt backward in order to avoid a third stroke from Quartana's scourge, amazed that his reflexes remained sharp enough for him to dodge at all; Quartana bore down on him as he backpedaled, but he wasn't planning an escape route – he was steadily backing toward the altar, and more importantly in the direction he knew his starmetal blade had fallen. He caught a glimpse of its distinctive sheen in the light from the sputtering candles and lunged for it, only to find that his legs were moving too sluggishly now for him to complete the maneuver and he fell just short of his destination. Quartana lashed out with the scourge and the vipers twined their sleek lengths around his throat, and with his fingertips mere inches from finding purchase upon the hilt of his weapon Mourn could only glare hatefully up at the priestess as she hauled him, helpless, up to her eye level.

"Don't tell me you truly thought your little insurrection would succeed?" she sneered, reaching out and dragging her long ruby fingernails down his cheek with an exaggerated slowness that made the drow assassin want to gag. "I know better than to trust the intentions or usefulness of you males – the Time of Troubles taught the daughters of Lolth that much, after all. But how to eliminate you?" The vipers hovered just millimeters from Mourn's face, their eager tongues darting out to taste the pungent fear in the air and their onyx eyes glittering entrancingly in the light from the dozen candles surrounding the altar, and Quartana chuckled appreciatively in the face of their enthusiasm. "But of course I should let my darlings do the honor… I will leave your eyes intact, male, so that you have the supreme privilege of watching the vipers tear the flesh from your skull. You should feel grateful that I haven't more time to adequately punish you… Rest assured, you would not care for the result."

The vipers reared their heads, their mistress's elation apparent in their violently-whipping lengths, but the killing bites of the horrid snakes never came – in the instant before they could strike the bronze-eyed prince burst through a rift in the dimensions just a few feet behind Quartana with the trigger phrase of a spell upon his lips, but the priestess reacted with commendable speed and was hardly caught off guard. She dropped the handle of her scourge in favor of dealing with this new threat – Mourn collapsed to the ground, his fingers tangled in the sinuous bodies of the writhing vipers as he gasped for air – and conjured a single gleaming, golden lash in her non-dominant hand; with a crack like a stroke of thunder the whip caught Brennus by the ankle and sent him reeling, the last syllable of his incantation lost when he thudded to the floor and the breath was blasted forcibly from his lungs. Quartana tugged the length free and struck a second blow, her eyes shining with sadistic pleasure as the whip of conjured sunlight ripped a wicked laceration in the loremaster's torso from left shoulder to right hip, and he cried out in agony and convulsed as the sunlight seeped into the wound –

It was all the distraction that Mourntrin Auvryndar needed.

Gasping feebly as he tore the last of the wriggling vipers from his neck the drow assassin fumbled for the starmetal dagger that lay forgotten upon the topmost step leading up to the altar. By the time Quartana turned back to deal with him Mourn had already darted in far too close for her to either evade or block, and the crushing realization that she could do nothing to stop him shone through in her horrified expression; it brought a wild grin of true elation to Mourn's face and he paused for a half-second longer, savoring her fear and anticipating the feel of her blood upon his hands.

The killing stroke wasn't as satisfying as he had envisioned – it was more so, made utterly perfect in the way her desperate gaze grew dark and her breath became ragged and laborious. With her dying breath she found the strength to curse him to the blackest corner of the Abyss, and in response he withdrew his dagger from her abdomen and used it to cut out her tongue purely for the sake of his own enjoyment. Then Quartana Baenre slouched to the floor without another sound, and all was quiet then save the pealing of the bell within the church's tower.

"The bell," Mourn gasped out, his forehead now beaded with sweat that had little to do with his exertions from battle, and the notion that soon the church would be flooded with the Shadovar made his already-racing heart pound that much faster.

"We haven't much time," drawled Lim from where he lay bound to the altar. "Neither you nor Prince Brennus can be long for this world. You had best free me so that I can help you."

Mourn did as he was told, easily cutting through the drow-shade's bonds with a few quick strokes of his starmetal dagger; Lim swung his legs over the side of the altar and took his feet at once, assessing first Mourn's condition before crossing the congregation in three quick strides and sinking down to one knee at Brennus's side. The Twelfth Prince was a dreadful sight, the ghastly tear across his midsection seeping viscous black shadowblood and the residual drops of molten sunlight burning through his flesh like acid; Mourn tripped and collapsed to his knees weakly but did not complain, for the prince's predicament was far worse than his own and he owed the man a reprieve. Had it not been for Brennus's intervention, Mourn would surely have failed.

Lim plunged one hand down the neck of his breastplate and brought forth a vial of gray-black liquid so inconsistent of substance that it appeared nearly gaseous; he unstoppered the bottle and overturned it so that half its contents spattered upon Brennus's exposed chest, dousing the sunlight like water extinguishing a fire. Then Lim held the bottle up to the prince's lips and Brennus parted them willingly, so Lim tipped the rest of the curious dark contents down his throat. The effect was instantaneous – with the sunlight quenched the prince's wound simply knit itself neatly, leaving nothing but smooth ebony flesh beneath the tear in his loremaster's robes, and in seconds he was sitting up of his own accord.

"Take him and go," Brennus commanded, his tone leaving little room for debate, and in response to the quizzical eyebrow Lim leveled his way the loremaster added, "Lamorak and Aglarel can't be far behind – they will reach this place soon, and it is best if _he_ – " Brennus nodded curtly once in Mourn's direction. " – Is not present when they arrive. Whatever your explanation for his presence, Lim, they will surely kill him if they find him."

Mourn's head was lolling and his expression was growing more and more vacant by the second; Lim hoisted him upright but hesitated to depart, his expression completely unreadable. "I owe you much," he admitted reluctantly, his tone of voice one of begrudging gratitude. "Come and see me when you are able and the way is clear. You cannot know how pivotal your involvement was today, but let me say this: if there is a way I might return you to the High Prince's good graces, I will see that I do everything within my power to make it so."

"Go now," Brennus insisted, clambering to his feet tiredly, and with a last nod Lim shadow-walked out of the congregation with the incoherent Mourn tucked under his arm. Barely two heartbeats elapsed before Lamorak and Aglarel materialized at the other end of the center aisle just as Brennus had predicted, and for his part the loremaster was inwardly grateful that he had already formulated a hasty alibi on the way.

Aglarel's eyes flitted over the Lolth-inspired altar in the center of their beloved Church of Shar, his eyes their characteristic cool silver now but no less unforgiving than before; he took in Brennus's tattered appearance with mild interest before his eyes fell upon the mutilated corpse of the drow priestess at the youngest prince's feet, and that interest transformed immediately into disgust. "You killed the priestess?" he asked flatly, and it was clear in his tone that he was not in the mood for riddles.

"I did," Brennus agreed simply. One had only to take note of the great tear in his robes to see that that much, at least, was true.

"And how could you have known to find her here?" Aglarel inquired suspiciously, his coldly assessing eyes scouring Brennus's face for even the barest undercurrent of fear or dishonesty.

Brennus's eyes landed on Lamorak, who regarded him calmly with only a hint of disdain. "Lamorak shared with me the last of Phendrana's visions," he lied smoothly, the naked plea in his eyes impossible for the Third Prince to mistake. "I came here straightaway to ensure Lim's safety."

Aglarel sized Lamorak up appraisingly; the Determinist Prime met his gaze unfalteringly, seeming unfazed by the Fourth Prince's intense scrutiny. Whatever Aglarel was searching for in Lamorak's face must not have concerned him for he chose not to question either of them further on that particular subject – for that much, at least, Brennus was grateful, for he wasn't foolish enough to believe that he could continue to count on Lamorak's cooperation in this instance. "And where is Lim now?"

"He departed just before you arrived to tend to his own wounds." Brennus couldn't help but privately admit to himself that it was more than a little disturbing how easily these lies came to him.

"And the other drow? The one who attempted to murder the princess?"

The Twelfth Prince swallowed hard and silently prayed to Shar that his next lie was one he might take to his grave. "If you did not come across him on your way here, he must have escaped. I came straight here after leaving the palace gardens, and from what I can tell he has not been here."

"In that case we should make haste, brother," Lamorak broke in distractedly, though his eyes had not once left Brennus's face. "He may have evaded us thus far, but he hasn't a hope of escaping the enclave now that the priestess is dead. Surely she was the one who granted them access to our city in the first place, and without her he is likely stranded. We might find him yet."

"I shudder to think how the High Prince will respond to our ineptitude if we return with nothing to show for our efforts," said the Fourth Prince emotionlessly, and with barely a second glance Brennus's way he melted into his own shadow and vanished, bound for some location unknown.

Lamorak stayed behind just long enough to leave his youngest brother with a warning. "Be careful, brother. To lie in the realm of an omniscient king is to court disaster, and I will only be content to accommodate your traitorous designs for so long."

Brennus thought of Lim's vow then, and it served to keep him calm in the face of Lamorak's ill omens. "Just keep close to Phendrana in the days to come – keep him safe, as you promised me you would. I will make my own way."

"I pray that your way does not stray much further from our sovereign's way," the Third Prince confessed monotonously, and then he dissolved into shadow particles just as Aglarel had done.

Twelfth Prince Brennus departed moments later without bothering to see to the drow priestess's body, content in the knowledge that the worshippers of Shar would come up with a suitable means of disposing of it.

* * *

It was some time later when Lamorak at last stumbled upon Phendrana, having returned from his rounds with Aglarel empty-handed; the doppelganger had hidden himself away in a mostly-private corner of the palace gardens, huddled in an almost childlike position beneath a towering globe willow with his back against the tree's broad trunk. The mindmaster did not even look up when Lamorak completed his approach, and after several long minutes of unfilled silence it became apparent that Phendrana had no intention of speaking at all. Lamorak cut to the chase. "The drow must be gone by now – he is nowhere to be found. Aglarel and I have scoured every last crevice of the city, but to no avail. Somehow the assassin has eluded us." Still the doppelganger did not speak, or even make a move to show that he had heard a single word Lamorak had said; glancing down the Determinist Prime noticed that Phendrana was twisting something between his graceful, abnormally long fingers. "What have you got there?"

Phendrana started and dropped the trinket to the ground before snatching it possessively back up, but not quickly enough to avoid giving Lamorak a decent glimpse of what he held – a strap of supple black velvet upon which was sewn a handsome jade the size of a silver piece. Curiously enough there seemed to be a liberal smear of some viscous, inky black fluid staining the face of the gem, but Phendrana was concealing it between his clasped hands now and Lamorak could only speculate as to what it might be. "It's mine," muttered Phendrana beneath his breath, his shoulders hunched and his eyes wide and unblinking, and to Lamorak the doppelganger sounded quite deranged. "He stole it from me, but I took it back."

"Who stole it from you?" the Determinist Prime asked gently, but a piercing wail struck up from somewhere not far away, demanding his attention; for the first time Lamorak noticed that the palace gardens were in a state of complete pandemonium, filled with lesser male nobles running back and forth wearing panic-stricken expressions and their female counterparts sobbing into their own outstretched hands. The more he watched the sycophantic, devastated members of the Upper Court, the more he became convinced that something was dreadfully wrong. "Did something happen in my absence?"

Phendrana was clutching his head earnestly in his hands now and rocking back and forth like a child attempting to drive away the lasting effects of a particularly violent nightmare, his fingertips curled into claws and his knuckles digging into his temples. "He's dead," he said hollowly, his voice cracking hideously on the final word, and Lamorak felt his eyebrows shoot up.

"Who is dead, Phendrana?"

"What?" barked the doppelganger impatiently, lifting his head and fixing Lamorak with a vacant, empty expression; Lamorak felt his own eyes widen as he met that hollow stare, struck momentarily speechless and terrified at the hopelessness in Phendrana's eyes. It was almost as though Phendrana couldn't even see him at all – as though he was translucent and Phendrana was gazing right through him. "I can't hear you. I can't hear anything. All I can hear is him screaming."

Though Lamorak couldn't make sense of these words, that didn't stop them from sending a chill down his spine. He made a conscious effort to crouch down at the doppelganger's side despite the fact that he had never been so repulsed by Phendrana before, and said insistently, "No one is screaming, Phendrana." But this wasn't entirely true anymore; the midnight air was suddenly a din of anguished cries, men and women alike lamenting as though their hearts were shattering within their chests, and the sensation that something was horribly wrong manifested with even greater strength within Lamorak.

"I just want him to stop screaming," Phendrana begged desperately, seizing the collar of Lamorak's undershirt with both hands, his fingers twisting almost painfully in the fabric as he forced the prince to look him directly in the eye. "I don't want this… it feels so _wrong_. All I wanted to do was help him. He wanted to die, he told me to let him die, but I didn't listen. I wanted to keep him. I _had_ to keep him. And now he's going to make me regret it every moment of every day until I go insane."

Lamorak forcibly disentangled himself from the doppelganger's grasping hands, suddenly unable to abide being in such close proximity to him; there was no denying the fact that Phendrana's disturbing words and the low, frantic cadence of his voice had him feeling distinctly unnerved, and the wails of the despairing nobles had now reached a nigh-unbearable crescendo. Suddenly Lamorak was seized with the desperate need to be somewhere, anywhere, but here. "Let me take you home, Phendrana," he said in what was meant to be a warm and inviting tone, but his voice quavered near the end and the effect was lost. "Let's go back to Villa Tareia and have Lux brew us some tea and stoke us a fire. Would you like that?"

"Yes," said Phendrana blandly, his eyes too wide and his voice too high. "I would like that very much."

Neither of them had the presence of mind to shadow walk away from that awful place, where now it seemed even the trees were shrieking aloud with heart-wrenching misery; Lamorak simply led the way and Phendrana followed meekly behind like a sheep being led to the slaughter, and with each and every step he took the miserable screams of the newly-assimilated shadow sorcerer Hadrhune echoed louder and louder throughout the cavernous expanse of the doppelganger's newly-fractured mind until Phendrana felt his eardrums rupture and begin to bleed.


	15. Epilogue

Mourntrin Auvryndar marveled at the opening of his own eyes, for he had been so certain that he would never again glimpse the living world that he now saw everything with a heightened sense of awe and appreciation. Though his extremities felt weak and his lungs still ached colors seemed more vibrant and the air tasted almost cloyingly sweet – he drank it in like a parched man drinks water, letting the oxygen revitalize his spirit and bolster his resolve. He was alive. He had fulfilled his mission.

"I nearly woke you," came a darkly bemused voice from across the room, and sitting up Mourn cast his eyes about until they landed upon Lim Tal'eyve; the drow-shade was sitting behind his mahogany study desk with his boots stacked upon the well-polished surface, his chin propped nonchalantly upon one fist as he surveyed the drow reclining upon his own bed with open curiosity. Mourn hastened to vacate the bed, certain that he had greatly overstepped his bounds, but Lim made no move to chastise him. "Again, time grows short. It is only a matter of time before the High Prince's own sons come banging down my door with their intrusive questions, and you must be well on your way before they arrive. I am an outsider here, much the same as you, and even I cannot guarantee your safety."

"As you command," Mourn agreed readily, bending slightly at the waist and offering Lim a bow of respectful obeisance. "I have only to deliver that which I have brought to you, and then I will depart."

Lim's amber eyes sparkled at that, deeply intrigued now. "Then you are the one."

"Exalted Blade," said the drow assassin reverently, straightening up and fixing Lim with a genuinely privileged smile, "allow me to formally introduce myself to you. I am Mourntrin Auvryndar, once the Elderboy and Weapons Master of the now-extinct drow house of Auvryndar of Ched Nasad, now an assassin in the employ of Jarlaxle Baenre of Bregan D'aerthe, but always a proud member of the Jaezred Chaulssin. I was chosen to fulfill the position of Keeper of the Sword until such time as we could divine a way to free you from the Spider Queen's clutches, and I have devoted myself fully to locating you since the moment that title was bestowed upon me."

"I am honored to meet you, Mourntrin Auvryndar," said Lim with a smirk of relish, "and even more honored to learn that the Jaezred Chaulssin, my brothers-in-arms against the Spider Queen's reign over our people, never gave up on me. I must ask that you fulfill the duty of your office now and return to me that which you have been protecting all these years – that which is rightfully mine to wield – the Anointed Blade." Legend and myth held that the Anointed Blade, a timeless relic forged in the deepest corner of the Abyss, had been crafted in secret by Lolth's estranged sister Eilistraee with the sole purpose of one day striking the Spider Queen from her lofty perch in the heavens – none held that legend in higher esteem than the Jaezred Chaulssin, an elite all-male drow society whose only aim was to see that plan reach fruition. Nearly two decades before the Jaezred Chaulssin had passed the Anointed Blade down to Lim, and their prophets had proclaimed Lolth's death at Lim's hands so long as he continued to wield the sword against her.

That was when Mourn's face crumpled and he cast his eyes to the floor ashamedly; Lim felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, and sitting up straight in his study chair he allowed his feet to slide off the side of the desk and drop to the floor with a muted _thud_. "I must beg your forgiveness, Exalted Blade," he murmured, despaired. "The sword is not in my possession. I cannot give it to you."

Lim leapt from his chair and flung it into the wall in a rage, hardly satisfied when one of the legs punched a deep gouge in the plaster before crashing into a half-filled bookshelf. "You don't have it?!" he shrieked, feeling as though the floor beneath his feet had suddenly fallen away and he was drifting helplessly through his life without purpose. "What do you mean, you DON'T HAVE IT?! Why in the name of the Gods did you waste your time in seeking me out when you knew you had utterly failed your only task?! How DARE you face me with such wretched, deplorable news?! How DARE you beg my forgiveness when you are unfit to stand in my very presence?!"

"Please," begged Mourn, clutching his hands before him as though deep in prayer, his piteous expression quite wretched indeed. "Allow me but a moment to explain the circumstances to you, Exalted Blade. It is my hope that when the truth becomes known to you, you will not be so quick to pass judgment upon me.

"About five years ago, when you were just settling into your throne within the newly-risen Castle Perilous, I was dispatched from our sanctuary to make contact with you. Back then the Anointed Blade was in my possession, and of course I had every intention of bringing it to you. How could we have known that we were not the only ones who coveted such a priceless weapon?"

Dread settled in the pit of Lim's stomach, writhing in knots like so many enraged snakes. "What are you saying?"

Mourn spread his hands beseechingly, his eyes full of sorrow. "I had barely taken a score of steps out of the sanctuary when I was accosted by the first members of their advance guard, and I only managed to escape with my life by pretending that I had been killed in the initial onslaught. They left me in the Underdark, they believed, to die, and proceeded to ransack our sanctuary and slaughter as many of our members as they could find. In the end, they nearly eliminated every single one of us – their only aim could have been to locate the Anointed Blade, though for what reason they could possibly want such a weapon I can only speculate. They massacred the Jaezred Chaulssin, but they left without the Blade. They overlooked me as beneath their notice, and neglected to deduce that the sword was with me.

"After that, we were The Four – the only ones who had faced those pale-faced devils and lived through the slaughter. We took what provisions we could salvage from the sanctuary and struck out deeper into the Underdark, confident that the rage that fueled our steps would be enough to see us through any further hardships we encountered on our way. Our determination was rewarded. We established another sanctuary far from any who might have been even the slightest bit interested in tracking our steps. We prowled through those lightless caverns, learning all that we could regarding the race that had so easily decimated the Jaezred Chaulssin. We studied them. We bided our time. We safeguarded the Blade. And then we struck.

"A group of a dozen of the pale-faced ones had been frequenting a cavern not far from where we had established our new sanctuary – we had been tracking them for several weeks at a distance, but through our caution we were unable to determine just what it was that so demanded their attention. We caught them at unawares by chance and managed to kill a handful of them, but they outnumbered us and overpowered us with strange magic spells the likes of which we had never seen. Two of The Four were slain in battle – me and my last companion were captured and taken to their grand city within the deepest annals of the Underdark, and it was there that the Blade was stolen from me."

Lim let his head fall forward into his waiting hands, his fingertips pressing insistently into his scalp. The feeling of defeat that was a direct by-product of this news threatened to rise up and overwhelm him. "Then I have waited in vain, and all is truly lost."

"No, Exalted Blade," Mourn insisted, and Lim raised his head, eager to grasp at even the most frayed scrap of hope. "Though my companion and I were hopelessly outnumbered and prisoners within a foreign civilization the likes of which we had never seen, we still had our wit, and our cunning – those traits served us well during our captivity, and through our perseverance we ultimately escaped that place. The particulars of our escape elude me for we were weak and very near death when we staged our flight, and though I am ashamed to admit to you that we were unable to recover the Anointed Blade we did not leave that ancient city empty-handed. My final companion, Xuntath Oblodra, has since died at the hands of one of the shadow-dwellers, and I am now the last remaining member of the Jaezred Chaulssin; I swore to myself that I wouldn't rest until I had delivered my findings to your personally, and now at last the opportunity has come."

From a hip-pouch upon his belt Mourn drew out a simple drawstring sack the size of a pear, and speaking a soft trigger phrase the pouch tripled in size until it was roughly as large as a half-full knapsack; Mourn unlaced the drawstrings with exaggerated care before plunging one hand into its depths, and after rummaging around for a moment he extracted a weathered and ponderous tome the likes of which Lim had never seen. Both its cover and its pages were of materials not well suited for binding books – the cover was rough to the touch and extraordinarily resilient, and Lim could only inspect the edges of the pages for the tome was sealed tight with both a lock of highly unusual make and enchantments far older and more powerful than he could ever dream to be. Even the runes that adorned the surface of the text were completely unfamiliar symbols to him, and he traced the outlines of each one with a kind of mystified reverence.

"Forgive me for being so bold, Exalted Blade," said Mourn ponderously, "but in my humble opinion this book is far more powerful than even the Sword. I feel cataclysmic magic emanating from its pages the likes of which even your shadow masters could never hope to replicate, and I feel confident in saying that if you could unlock the mysteries penned within it… Well, would there be a being mightier than you in all the Realms?"

"By the Gods," breathed Lim Tal'eyve, his voice both awed and terrified as he caressed the front cover of the tome with slightly-trembling fingers. "I know what this is."


End file.
